It is a fine afternoon and she needs the air. Crawford isn't much of a walker; he can stay and keep Cousin Emily company. We won't be long."

Before Mary could decline this disinterested invitation Mrs. Wyeth saved her the trouble.

"Thank you, Samuel," she said, crisply. "Your kindness is appreciated, particularly by Mr. Smith and myself. I can see that he is delighted with the idea. But Mary and I are going to the afternoon service at the Arlington Street church. So you will have to excuse us."

This should have been a squelcher, but it was not. Sam announced that he and Crawford would go with them. "We were thinking of going to church, weren't we, Crawford? It is just what I suggested, you remember."

Mrs. Wyeth said "Humph," and that was all. She and Mary went to their rooms to get ready. Sam, surprised at the unexpected success of his sudden inspiration and immensely tickled, chuckled in triumph. But his joy was materially lessened when the quartette left the house.

"These sidewalks are too narrow for four," declared Mrs. Wyeth. "Samuel, you may walk with me. Mary, you and Mr. Smith must keep close at our heels and walk fast. I never permit myself or my guests to be late at church."

During the walk Crawford asked a number of questions. How long had his companion been in the city? How long did she intend staying? Did she plan returning to the school for another year? Where would she spend the Christmas vacation? Mary said she was going home, to South Harniss, for the holidays.

"It's a bully old place, Cape Cod," declared Crawford. "I never had a better time than I did on that visit at Sam's. Wish I were going there again some day."

"Why don't you?" asked Mary.

The young man shook his head. "Orders from home," he said. "Father insists on my coming home to him the moment the term closes. I made that visit to Sam's on my own responsibility and I got fits for doing it. Dad seems to have a prejudice against the East. He won't come here himself and he doesn't like to have me stay any longer than is absolutely necessary. When I wrote him I was at South Harniss he telegraphed me to come home in a hurry. He is Eastern born himself, lived somewhere this way when he was young, but he doesn't talk about it and has more prejudices against Eastern ways and Eastern people than if he'd lived all his life in Carson City. Won't even come on to see me play football.

I doubt if he comes to Commencement next spring; and I graduate, too."

"I wonder he permitted you to go to Harvard," said Mary.

"He had to permit it. I've always been for Harvard ever since I thought about college. Dad was all for a Western university, but I sat back in the stirrups and pulled for Harvard and finally he gave in. He generally gives in if I buck hard enough. He's a bully old Dad and we're great pals, more like brothers than father and son. The only point where we disagree is his confounded sectional prejudice. He thinks the sun not only sets in the West but rises there."

The girl learned that he intended entering the Harvard Medical School in the fall.

"I had to fight for that, too," he said, with a laugh. "I've always wanted to be a doctor but Dad wouldn't give in for ever so long. He is interested in mining properties there at home and it was his idea that I should come in with him when I finished school. But I couldn't see it.

I wanted to study medicine. Dad says there are almost as many starving doctors as there are down-at-the-heel lawyers; if I go in with him, he says, I shall have what is practically a sure thing and a soft snap for the rest of my days. That doesn't suit me. I want to work; I expect to.

I want to paddle my own canoe. I may be the poorest M.D. that ever put up a sign, but I'm going to put that sign up just the same. And if I starve I shan't ask him or anyone else to feed me."

He laughed again as he said it, but there was a determined ring in his voice and a square set to his chin which Mary noticed and liked. He meant what he said, that was evident.

"I think a doctor's profession is one of the n.o.blest and finest in the world," she said.

"Do you? Good for you! So do I. It doesn't bring in the dollars as fast as some others, but it does seem a man's job to me. The big specialists make a lot of money too, but that isn't exactly what I mean. Some of the best men I've met were just country doctors, working night and day in all sorts of weather and getting paid or not, just as it happened. That old Doctor Harley down in your town is one of that kind, I think. I saw something of his work while I was there."

"Did you? I shouldn't have thought you had time for that, with all the picnics and sailing parties."

"I did, though. I met him at Sam's. Mrs. Keith had a cold or a cough or something. He and I got to talking and he asked me to come and see him.

I went, you bet! Went out with him on some of his drives while he made his calls, you know. He told me a lot of things. He's a brick."

"It's queer," he went on, after a moment, "but I felt really at home down there in that little place. Seemed as if I had been there before and--and--by George, almost as if I belonged there. It was my first experience on and around salt water, but that seemed natural, too. And the people--I mean the people that belong there, not the summer crowd--I liked them immensely. Those two fine old cards that kept the store--Eh, I beg pardon; they are relatives of yours, aren't they? I forgot."

"They are my uncles," said Mary, simply. "I have lived with them almost all my life. They are the best men in the world."

"They seemed like it. I'd like to know them better. h.e.l.lo! here's that confounded church. I've enjoyed this walk ever so much. Guess I've done all the talking, though. Hope I haven't bored you to death ga.s.sing about my affairs."

"No, you haven't. I enjoyed it."

"Did you really? Yes, I guess you did or you wouldn't say so. You don't act like a girl that pretends. By George! It's a relief to have someone to talk to, someone that understands and appreciates what a fellow is thinking about. Most girls want to talk football and dancing and all that. I like football immensely and dancing too, but there is something else in life. Even Sam--he's as good as they make but he doesn't care to listen to anything serious--that is, not long."

Mary considered. "I enjoyed listening," she said, "and I was glad to hear you liked South Harniss and my uncles."

On the way home, after the service, it was Sam Keith who escorted Mary, while Mrs. Wyeth walked with Mr. Smith. Sam's conversation was not burdened with seriousness. Hockey, dances, and good times were the subjects he dealt with. Was his companion fond of dancing? Would she accompany him to one of the club dances some time? They were great fun.

Mrs. Wyeth could chaperon them, of course.

Mary said she was afraid she would be too busy to accept. As a matter of fact, knowing what she did of his mother's feelings, she would have accepted no invitations from Sam Keith even if nothing else prevented her doing so.

"My studies take a good deal of my time," she said.

Sam laughed. "You'll get over that," he declared. "I studied like blue blazes my freshman year, but after that--I should worry. Say, I'm mighty glad I came over here today. I'm coming again. I'll be a regular boarder."

The young men said good-by at the Wyeth door. Mrs. Wyeth did not ask them in, although the persistent Samuel threw out some pointed hints.

Crawford Smith and Mary shook hands.

"I've had an awfully good time," declared the former. Then, turning to Mrs. Wyeth, he asked: "May I call occasionally?"

Mrs. Wyeth's answer was, as usual, frank and unmistakable.

"Yes," she said. "I shall be very glad to see you--occasionally."

Crawford turned to Mary.

"May I?" he asked.

Mary scarcely knew how to reply. There was no real reason why he should not call; she liked him so far. His frankness and earnestness of purpose appealed to her. And yet she was not at all sure that it was wise to continue the acquaintance. In her mind this coming to Boston to school was a very serious matter. Her uncles had sent her there to study; they needed her at home, but that need they had sacrificed in order that she might study and improve. Nothing else, friendships or good times or anything, must interfere with the purpose with which she had accepted the sacrifice.

So she hesitated.

"May I?" repeated Crawford.

"Why, I don't know. I imagine I shall be very busy most of the time."

"That's all right. If you're busy you can send word for me to vamoose.

That will be part of the bargain. Good-by."

Mrs. Wyeth's first remark, after entering, was concerning Sam's friend.

"I rather like that young person," she said. "Samuel idolizes him, of course, but Samuel would worship a hyena if it played football. But this Smith boy"--in Mrs. Wyeth's mind any male under thirty was a boy--"seems to have some common sense and a mind of his own. I don't approve of his name nor the howling wilderness he comes from, but he can't help those drawbacks, I suppose. However, if he is to call here we must know something about him. I shall make inquiries."

CHAPTER XII

The school term ended on a Sat.u.r.day morning in mid-December. Mary's trunk was packed and ready, and she and it reached the South Station long before train time. She was going home, home for the holidays, and if she had been going on a trip around the world she could not have been more delighted at the prospect. And her delight and antic.i.p.ations were shared in South Harniss. Her uncles' letters for the past fortnight had contained little except joyful announcements of preparations for her coming.