The soft, starry evenings up in the mountains, where heaven seems so near,
are just the time for such talk.

They were walking thus one evening toward the river, Ruth in a creamy gown
and with a white burnous thrown over her head, Will holding his hat in his
hand and letting the sweet air play through his hair, as he loved to do.

"What do you think are the greatest professions, Miss Ruth?" asked the boy
suddenly.

"Well, law is one--" she began.

"That's the way Papa begins," he interrupted impatiently; "but I'll tell
you what I think is the greatest. Guess, now."

"The ministry?" she ventured.

"Oh, of course; but I'm not good enough for that, --that takes exceptions.
Guess again."

"Well, there are the fine arts, or soldiery, --that is it. You would be a
brave soldier, Willikins, my man."

"No, sir," he replied, flinging back his head; "I don't want to take lives;
I want to save them."

"You mean a physician, Will?"

"That's it--but not exactly--I mean a surgeon. Don't you think that takes
bravery? And it's a long sight better than being a solider; he draws blood