"No; papa says his patience is worn out, and his purse can stand no more such drains as Arthur has put upon it two or three times already. So he is to leave and go home as soon as Horace has settled up his affairs."
"And you?"
"I hope to go on and to graduate in another year."
"Oh, Wal, I'm so glad! so thankful you have'nt followed in poor
Arthur's footsteps."
"He wouldn't let me, Elsie; he actually wouldn't. I know I'm lacking in self-reliance and firmness, and if Art had chosen to lead me wrong, I'm afraid he'd have succeeded. But he says, poor fellow! that it's enough for one to be a disgrace to the family, and has tried to keep me out of temptation. And you can't think how much my correspondence with you has helped to keep me straight. Your letters always did me so much good."
"Oh, thank you for telling me that!" she cried, with bright, glad tears glistening in her eyes.
"No, 'tis I that owe thanks to you," he said, looking down meditatively at the carpet and twirling his watch-key between his finger and thumb.
"Poor Art! this ought to have been his last year, and doubtless would if he had only kept out of bad company."
"Ah, Wal, I hope that you will never forget that 'evil communications corrupt good manners.'"
"I hope not, Elsie. I wish you could stay and attend our commencement.
What do you say? Can't you? It comes off in about a fortnight."