SMART country costume of green knitted stuff, narrow brown shoes, highly polished, and her hat was right. Nora Wynne regarded her reflection with approval. Sons noticed these things, she knew. They liked to have their mothers well turned out-a credit to them. Smiling, she looked down at the photograph on her dressing-table, a small boy in an Eton collar, with dark curly hair. It had stood there ever since the time, so soon after her husband's death, when she had taken Peter to the school for the first time and left him, with such a horrible empty feeling, to the abstract justice of men and strange hardeyed little boys. She had been lonely, of course. But he was in the sixth form now. Next year he would be in college and coming home for the week-ends, and perhaps

later they could travel for a year before he settled down to business or the law.

As she looked out at the bright sky above the housetops, Nora Wynne felt very content. Captain of the team, and a perfect day for him-his day, the day of the big game. And they would have a little time together afterward. Jim would not hurry her off. Jim Edgerton. . . . It would be pleasant to motor out with Jim. It was his old school, too, and perhaps for her sake and Peter's he had professed for it a reawakened enthusiasm. He was such a good fellow, Jim, so simple and direct. What a bulwark he had been when Gordon died. And ever since so stanch-always the same. Why couldn't she? But what was the use of going over that again and again. Simply, she didn't want to.

The bell sounded down-stairs, a loud sharp ring, and Mrs. Wynne gathered up her gloves and a heavy coat. Edger

ton was in the little room by the front door. A tall, powerful man, very fitlooking, with candid blue eyes. He had not taken off his heavy coonskin coat, and his hat was still in his hand. He smiled down at her.

"Are we off?” he said.

"We're off, my dear Jim," she replied gayly. "I'm thankful it's such a good day."

At the door of the vestibule he paused and looked her over.

Got a warm coat?"

"Oh, yes, this is quite enough."
He seemed doubtful.

"I've an extra one in the motor." Edgerton drove the big open car himself, drove fast; and within an hour they were in open country. Low white farmhouses, sagging a little, with an elm or two in front and, beyond, rows of apple-trees just plucked of their fruit. Barns, opendoored, showing full hay-lofts; pumpkins, like gigantic nuggets of gold, piled on the grass. In the sunshine the scarred earth smoked and seemed to pant a little after the travail of the harvest.

They breasted a long slope, and the fields fell away about them, little patches of ruffled blue water showing in the coarse grass. Edgerton slowed down.

"There's my house over there," he said. "The gray roof at the head of the valley."

She looked across the sweeping pastures to where a long stone house showed through the autumn foliage.

"It's a lovely place, Jim," she said. "The beeches and the meadow leading down to the river."

"You haven't been there this year." "Haven't been asked."

"No? Well, we'll make up a week-end party some time, if you like. . . . Party!" he repeated with vehemence.

He thrust the car forward, and they had driven on for a mile or so before his hand dropped from the wheel and closed on hers.

"Nora, my dear," he said tersely. "Won't you ever get any sense? You're not the kind to live alone. Not by a long shot. You've got Peter, you'll say. But Peter's growing up; almost a man. One of these days he'll be flitting. God knows I don't expect you to care for me

in the same way you cared for Gordon. One doesn't care for any two people in quite the same way. Can't no two are alike. But we are happy together. . . Why not? Why not? WHY NOT?" She squeezed his arm.

"Jim, you're a dear. I'm frightfully fond of you. You know that. But I just don't want to. That's all. I like things as they are."

He stepped on the accelerator.

They were nearing the town now, the town from which the school took its name. A motor-car tore by them-boys from college going out to watch the game in which a year ago some of them had been taking part. They entered the wide shaded street lined with substantial wooden dwellings, passed the low rambling inn, before which many cars were drawn up.

"I've got some luncheon and a thermos bottle," Edgerton said. "We'll stop on the road somewhere this side of the school."

They lunched and chatted, sitting on a stone wall, and waved to friends who drove by.

"Genial gathering this," Edgerton remarked. "No fringes. All of 'em out of the top drawer-or think they are. No socialists and no poets. Just friendly, healthy, fairly well-disciplined people, owners of sound securities reproducing themselves. Rather ornamental, too, by George!"

The game was called for two o'clock. Within the school grounds cars were parked on the smooth turf among vinecovered brick buildings already getting a little mellow. Boys were running in and out of the dormitories, leaning from windows and calling down to others below. Fathers and mothers with a recaptured son walked together in the ripe October sunshine. Boys who had graduated a year ago greeted sixth formers casually, showing even to masters a hint of patronage. . . . An atmosphere of substanceof cleanness and ease and health and friendly give and take.

But Nora took little interest in the greetings of friends and acquaintances. The thought of the game troubled her a little. Boys were hurt playing football. She wished she could see Peter for a mo

ment. But he would be in the gymnasium, Edgerton assured her.

Every one was moving toward the field now; the stands were slowly filling. People laughed and waved to one another until a burst of cheering and clapping broke from the end of the stand, and the two squads ran on the field. Nora felt a clutch at her throat. Peter! How handsome he was with his dark curly hair and lithe figure. Through clouded eyes she watched him, wondering if he thought of her, if for a moment he remembered she was there.

Both teams ran through practice plays, footballs were punted overhead, and then Peter and the opposing captain were standing together with the umpire.

"Peter's won the toss," Nora heard a voice say.

A young girl was sitting almost directly in front, beside her a small boy, obviously a member of the school.

Nora felt a curious indignation. Who was this girl who spoke so readily of Peter? She leaned to one side to catch a glimpse of her face. But no, she had never seen her.

The teams lined up, and as young Clayton, one of Peter's friends, kicked off, every one craned after the ball. Nora, who had never been able to grasp the intricacies of the game, kept her eyes constantly on Peter whenever she could find him. She saw him run with the ball, saw him tackled and come down with three or four boys on top of him. But there were few stirring plays, and when at the end of the second period the teams went off the field, neither side had scored.

Nora's eyes turned back to the girl in front and the small boy. The name Peter had passed many times between them. On the other side of the boy sat a man who appeared to be with them-their father, perhaps. Nora turned to Edgerton.

VOL. LXXXI.-21

"Do you know that man?" she asked. Edgerton followed her glance. "That's Morton Sherwood," he replied. "Young Clayton's uncle, isn't he?"

Of course. Sherwood. . . . She remembered now. Peter had stayed at his house in the holidays with Clayton, whose father was in the diplomatic service somewhere. . . . Then the girl was Clayton's

cousin. Why had Peter never mentioned her? He had been there several times.

When the teams came back on the field, the girl jumped up. Pretty, remarkably pretty, in fact. Crisp bobbed hair under a very smart and very small hat; a coat of gray unfastened, showing a dove-colored dress; sheer silk stockings, and high-heeled shoes with delicate straps across the instep. Charming-and Nora knew about these things. But for a girl of that age, for she could scarcely be more than sixteen. And surely there was a touch of artificial color on her lips.

At the end of the third period there was still no score, and amidst great enthusiasm on both sides of the field the teams ran out for the final quarter. Again and again each school cheered its team, and often individual players. With beating heart Nora heard the name "Wynne, Wynne, Wynne," shouted from a hundred young throats. And play had scarcely begun when there came another seething cheer. Every one stood up. Nora grasped Edgerton's arm. Peter was running with the ball, close to the side-lines. For a moment he had an open space about him and was outstripping the men behind, but three opposing players closed in on him. He was tackled savagely and brought down almost in front of them. When his adversaries had disengaged themselves, he didn't move. Nora felt a wave of dizziness and horror. The school doctor ran out from the side-lines, and two boys carrying a pail of water. Edgerton gave her hand a squeeze.

"Just had his wind knocked out, probably. I'll go down and see."

He ran down the steps and out on the field. Peter was still lying flat, Clayton and the doctor bending over him. Nora, watching in suspense, suddenly found her view blocked. The girl in front was on her feet, standing very tense. She stooped and seized her brother by the shoulder.

"Archie," she cried, "run down and see if Peter's hurt."

"Me?" the boy exclaimed. "I guess not. They don't want any kids on that field. They'd throw me off. He isn't hurt."

"Don't be a fool," she said sharply. 'Go now-this minute. Tell Roger I want to know."

Very reluctantly the youngster picked his way through the crowded seats and slouched down to the side-lines. At this moment, however, Peter sat up, then pulled himself to his feet. He took a few paces back and forth with Clayton at his side, then the two moved a little apart and stood talking with the quarter-back. The teams lined up again, and Edgerton, after a final word with the doctor, made his way up the stand.

"Peter's all right," he said to Nora. "Just shaken up a bit."

At the sound of the name the girl in front glanced up, first at Edgerton, then at Nora. She turned away quickly, and when her young brother took his place a moment later she asked him no questions.

Two plays brought the ball to the thirty-yard line, but there the opposing team held, and amidst a sudden hush Peter dropped back to try for a goal from the field. For an interminable time he stood with his arms outstretched, but he caught the ball deftly, and with a slow, effortless swing made a drop-kick which carried it soaring over the goal. A roar broke from the stand of the home team as boys and masters leaped to their feet.

"Won the game, by Jove!" Edgerton shouted, grasping Nora by the shoulder. "Won the game!"

But Nora sank back, content just to watch Peter. And in a few minutes the whistle blew-the game was over. From the side-lines scores of boys ran out, and people began to step down from the stands. The girl in front was moving toward the aisle, but at the end of the row she turned and glanced quickly at Nora, a glance conscious and faintly hostile. Nora watched her tuck her arm through her father's, watched them stroll off with the crowd. She should have had Edgerton bring Mr. Sherwood to her, so that she could thank him for his hospitality to Peter, but somehow

"We'll have some tea," Edgerton said. "Peter'll be out in a few minutes."

As they made their way across the grass, many friends stopped her to speak of Peter, and in the dining-hall several of the masters, and even the rector himself, came over to her. But Peter did not turn up.

"I think I'll go out and sit in the car,"

she said to Edgerton. "Tell Peter where to find me."

She sank back and pulled a rug over her. It was twilight now, with a cloudless glow above the darkening line of hills. She looked out, waiting expectantly. People were moving by amidst the din of racing motors, the flare of headlights. Two cars which had been standing close

by pulled out and glided away, and beyond stood a closed motor. She straightened up. . . . Peter! He was talking to a girl-that girl. As she looked they stepped inside the car.

Nora was dazed. She couldn't understand-he hadn't come to find her. Why hadn't he come! . . . The girl. She must have waylaid him as he came from the