"Yes," he said, at last, "I have fitted in;
too easily, perhaps. I never was ambitious,
you know."
"Except in the accumulating of books," his
brother suggested.
The minister smiled. "I have not been
able to give unlimited rein even to that mild
ambition. Fortunately, the rarer the
opportunity, the greater the pleasure it brings
with it--and the old books never lose their charm."
Mr. Paul Shaw flicked the ashes from his
cigar. "And the girls--you expect them to
fit in, too?"
"It is their home." A note the elder
brother knew of old sounded in the younger
man's voice.
"Don't mount your high horse just yet,
Phil," he said. "I'm not going to rub you up
the wrong way--at least, I don't mean to; but
you were always an uncommonly hard chap to
handle--in some matters. I grant you, it is
their home and not a had sort of home for a
girl to grow up in." Mr. Shaw stood for a
moment at the head of the steps, looking off
down the peaceful, shadowy street. It had
been a pleasant week; he had enjoyed it
wonderfully. He meant to have many more such.
But to live here always! Already the city
was calling to him; he was homesick for its
rush and bustle, the sense of life and movement.
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