"
"Do you care so much for me as that, Harry? I was afraid you cared for
little Christie more than for me now."
"Don't be jealous of little Christie, Bessie. Surely I can like you
both. There are things a girl does not understand. You belong to me as
my father and mother do. I have told you everything. I have not told
anybody but you what I intend about Brook--not even my mother. I want it
to be our secret."
"So it shall, Harry. You'll see how I can keep it," cried Bessie
delighted.
"I trust you, because I know if I make a breakdown you will not change.
When I missed the English verse-prize last year (you remember, Bessie?)
I had made so sure of it that I could hardly show my face at home.
Mother was disappointed, but you just snuggled up to me and said, 'Never
mind, Harry, I love you;' and you did not care whether I had a prize or
none. And that was comfort. I made up my mind at that minute what I
should do."
"Dear old Harry! I am sure your verses were the best, far away," was
Bessie's response; and then she begged to hear more of what her comrade
meant to do.
Harry did not want much entreating. His schemes could hardly be called
castles in the air, so much of the solid and reasonable was there in the
design of them. He had no expectation of success by wishing, and no
trust in strokes of luck. Life is a race, and a harder race than ever.
Nobody achieves great things without great labors and often great
sacrifices.
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