very highest form of expression. Mr. Jennings thinks so too. He says, Lucy, that you attend certain courses connected with the university that would be excellent for me. He says that I could go to some of those afternoons with you perhaps. He's going to get the Shirley catalogue and lay out a course of study for me. Do you suppose, Will, that you could find a place for me to room somewhere around here?"
"To room, Ruth? Why, we should want you to stay right here with us," I exploded.
"Oh, of course," Ruth scoffed, "I couldn't break in on you and Will that way."
"But, Ruth," I began.
"Oh, no, Lucy, I wouldn't do that. I've been fifth wheel at The Homestead for years, but I don't intend to be here."
"Nonsense," said Will; "we'd like to have you. Lucy spent a lot of time preparing that room you're in and—"
"No. Please. I shan't listen. Why, you haven't even talked it over. Wait till morning anyway. I simply came in to ask your advice on my turning into a 'blue-stocking.' Do you think it absolutely ridiculous?"
We thought it was splendid—both Will and I. We talked and planned and built air-castles with Ruth till after midnight. She even read us some of her pretty verses and before she went to bed at one A. M. she had already become a poetess of renown with contributions appearing frequently in the most exclusive magazines.
A new-found genius slept in the southeast chamber that night, and at seven A. M. when the sun and I
