immediately and get those books.

A little later he might have been seen quitting the dormitory and
taking his way with a dubious step across the campus into the town.

Saturday forenoons of spring were busy times for the town in those
days. Farmers were in, streets were crowded with their horses and
buggies and rockaways, with live stock, with wagons hauling cord-
wood, oats, hay, and hemp. Once, at a crossing, David waited while
a wagon loaded with soft, creamy, gray hemp creaked past toward a
factory. He sniffed with relish the tar of the mud-packed wheels;
he put out a hand and stroked the heads drawn close in familiar
bales.

Crowded, too, of Saturdays was the book-shop to which the students
usually resorted for their supplies. Besides town customers and
country customers, the pastor of the church often dropped in and
sat near the stove, discoursing, perhaps, to some of his elders, or
to reverent Bible students, or old acquaintances. A small, tight,
hot, metal-smelling stove--why is it so enjoyable by a dogmatist?

As David made his way to the rear of the long bookshelves, which
extended back toward the stove, the pastor rose and held out his
hand with hearty warmth--and a glance of secret solicitude. The
lad looked sheepish with embarrassment; not until accosted had he
himself realized what a stray he had become from his pastor's flock
and fold. And he felt that he ought instantly to tell the pastor
this was the case. But the pastor had reseated himself and
regripped his masterful monologue. The lad was more than
embarrassed; he felt conscious of a new remorseful tenderness for