boy. The world is money-mad."

"I'm not money-mad," said Randy; "I know what I should like to do if my
life was my own. But it isn't. And I'm not going to have Mother twist
and turn as she has twisted and turned for the last fifteen years in
order to get me educated up to the family standard."

"If you don't mind I shouldn't." Caroline Paine was setting her feet
to a rocky path, but she did not falter. "You shouldn't mind if I
don't."

Becky laid down the chaplet of leaves. She knew some of the things
Caroline Paine had sacrificed and she was thrilled by them. "Randy,"
she admonished, with youthful severity, "it would be a shame to
disappoint your mother."

Randolph flushed beneath his dark skin. The Paines had an Indian
strain in them--Pocahontas was responsible for it, or some of the other
princesses who had mixed red blood with blue in the days when Virginia
belonged to the King. Randy showed signs of it in his square-set jaw,
the high lift of his head, his long easy stride, the straightness of
his black hair. He showed it, too, in a certain stoical impassiveness
which might have been taken for indifference. His world was, for the
moment, against him; he would attempt no argument.

"I am afraid this doesn't interest Major Prime," he said.

"It interests me very much," said the Major. "It is only another case
of the fighting man's adjustment to life after his return. We all have
to face it in one way or another." His eyes went out over the hills.