through with quarreling and wran-gling. Are there, then, any possi-bilities of their coming to terms? Will he value the importance of her making her way in the university toward some goal? Can she achieve anything with all the despondency and confusion that are in her? Yet she learned a lesson she will never forget: she learned that planning one's life and ordering one's hours is a person's best helper in any work whatever. And before she takes a course for her new life, she must acquaint herself with the elements and influences that have played upon her life and her think-ing; and they may be summed up in family, educators, and companions.

The shakiness of her position may go back to her earliest upbringing, which stripped her of confidence in herself and of any estimate of her own capacities, so that she felt herself cast off.

No one of the company stirred when she entered. She went into another room and picked up the baby whose own father does not know him, then came back with her tears pouring, trying to hide them in the little one's wrap. She tried to take no notice of those present, and forced a smile that held a pleading question, and a hope for a dream's fulfillment; but he did not return her smile, and turned his eyes from her with a fleeting glance.

And here she is before me now, cast off, groping for a path to deliver her from her darkness. She needs to feel some measure of safety and stability, or to know that she belongs to some abode — this quite apart from a longing for tenderness and love. Is art in her? Or will he give ear to the reports of mischief from his family?

Suddenly Layla received word of his coming, after an absence of six months. She rose to make the house ready, filling every moment of her time with painting the furniture, to prepare a dwelling

gleaming with brightness; and when she had finished with the furnishings, she turned to cleaning her clothes and tidying the drawers of her wardrobes. The weeks of waiting wore her out — and around her, gaping mouths waiting for food, tongues whetted like blades, and arrows of criticism that pierce to the quick...

At last came the long-awaited day of the beloved absent one's arrival. She cut every flower in the garden and decked the corners of the house; then she made him his favorite cake, and put on the dress he had sent during his absence.

"Mother — the doorbell is ringing —" All at once the children rushed to the door, crowding around

their father. He is home at last; it is a dream — no, for her a frightening dream. His family walled him round, retailing every stray detail about the farm and the news of the neighborhood, and how they had spent the weeks awaiting him; and the children joined the chorus, kissing and laughing and clamoring. And in came his cousin — she who had written to him not to expect letters from Layla, for she had become an art student; as for herself, she would never neglect him — and her letter had been backed by his people's reports of how his wife leaves her children, even her little baby, to practice a silly hobby, something they call art. Yet Layla had written to him

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