with closed eyes and open mouth, his face steeled against expression. And
the slow jog, jog, jog of the chair reminded me how his silent evening
vigils had worn away the rockers until they stood flat upon the floor,
making every movement a clacking complaint.

To-night--to-night, he is rocking just the same, in silence, in
loneliness. Poor, dear Pa!

"I'm glad to get home, of course," I said; "but--I wanted to speak with
you. But not to-night."

"Why, ye're through school."

"Yes, but I--I wish I could go on studying; if I may."

The words tripped over each other in my embarrassment.

The jog, jog of the chair paused suddenly, leaving for a moment only the
ticking of the clock to break the silence.

"Not goin' to put up 'ith us an' stay right alon', eh?" he asked; and
rocked twice, then stopped again, in suspense for the answer.

"Why, Father," I stammered, "of course I don't want to do anything unless
you're willing, but I had thought I'd like--I did want to go and study in
the city--I think--or somewhere."

"Dear me! Dear me!" he mused, his voice very low and even; "an' you just
through the University; 'way up to the top, too. Can't ye--seems as if ye
better stop alon' of us an' study home, same's you used to? Mebbe--mebbe