letter by advising her son that there were other things in the world besides football games, and it was bad to take one’s defeats, or victories either, for that matter, so intensely.

Edward felt that this was good advice, but that after all she did n’t and could n’t understand; it was n’t a matter of the defeat or the victory, it was a matter of his own character. He was a “quitter,” and he felt that Charles in his heart of hearts, and in spite of the brotherly sympathy and affection which had done so much to tide him over the first bad hour, knew it and was ashamed. He felt that Charles must be in a measure glad now that he had not come to St. John’s. Those were the thoughts that burnt deepest. There had never been anything of the quitter in Charles.

Edward cheered up after a time, of course, but the experience had left its scar. There was no other outdoor activity now into which he could plunge and so shake off the persistent self-reproach; there was no way of