'twon't be good for ye, studyin' so much."

"Of course I can, you dear old Dad," I cried; and horribly guilty I felt
as I looked at the kindly, weather-beaten face. "I shall do just whatever
you say. But oh, I wish I _could go to the city_! Don't you suppose
I could?"

"Chicago, mebbe?"

"I had thought of a post-graduate course in Barnard College--that's in New
York, you know."

Father knew John's plans. I blushed hotly. In the pause that followed I
knew that he was thinking of a well-thumbed map in my old school
geography; of the long, long journey to Chicago, and the thousand weary
miles that stretched beyond. Hastily I went on:--

"But I know how you have saved for me and worked for me and pinched; and
I'd be ashamed to be a burden upon you any longer; I can teach to get
money to go on with."

"No;" said Pa, sitting up straight and striking the arm of the chair with
his clenched fist a blow that gave some hint of the excitement that moved
him. "Guess a child o' mine don't need to teach an' get all dragged out,
alon' of a passel o' wild children! No, no, Helen 'Lizy;" he added more
softly, sinking back into the old attitude and once more closing his eyes;
"if the's so much more to learn, an' you want to go ahead an' learn it,
just you go an' get it done with. I'm right sorry to have ye go so fur
away; I did think--but it's nat'ral, child; it's nat'ral. I s'pose John
Burke's goin' to the city, too, and you kinder--I s'pose young folks likes