“’When you are content with any food, any raiment, any climate, any society, any position in life, any solitude, any interruption,—­that is victory.

“’When you can bear with any discord, any annoyance, any irregularity or unpunctuality (of which you are not the cause),—­that is victory.

“’When you can stand face to face with folly, extravagance, spiritual insensibility, contradiction of sinners, persecution, and endure it all as Jesus endured it,—­that is victory.

“’When you never care to refer to yourself in conversation, nor to record your works, nor to seek after commendation; when you can truly love to be unknown,—­that is victory.’”

“Now I see!” exclaimed Evadne.  “It means the beautiful patience with which you bear aggravating things and the gentle courtesy with which you treat all sorts of troublesome people.  Oh, my Princess, I envy you your altitude!”

CHAPTER XIV.

Professor Trenton had come and gone and the glory of the autumn was over the land.  The early supper was ended and Evadne had ensconced herself in her favorite window to catch the sun’s last smile before he fell asleep.  In the room across the hall Mr. Everidge reclined in his luxurious arm-chair and leisurely turned the pages of the last “North American Review.”  It was Saturday evening.

“Why, Horace, can this be possible?” Mrs. Everidge entered the room quickly and stood before her husband.  Neither of them noticed Evadne.

“My dear, many things are possible in this terrestrial sphere.  What particular possibility do you refer to?”

“That you have discharged Reuben?” The sweet voice trembled.  Mr. Everidge’s tones kept their usual complacent calm.

“That possibility, my dear, has taken definite form in fact.”

“But, Horace, the boy is heart-broken.”

“Time is a mighty healer, my love.  He will recover his mental equipoise in due course.”

“But you might have given him a month’s warning.  Where is the poor boy to find another place?  It is cruel to turn him off like this!”

“Really, my dear Marthe, I do not feel myself competent to solve all the problems of the labor question,” said Mr. Everidge carelessly.  “Reuben must take his chances in common with the rest of his class.”

“But, Horace, I cannot imagine what your reason for this can be!  Where will you find so good a boy?”

“I am not aware that Socrates thought it necessary to acquaint the worthy Xantippe with the reasons for his conduct,” remarked Mr. Everidge suavely.  “The feminine mind is too much disposed to jump to hasty conclusions to prove of any assistance in deciding matters of importance.  The masculine brain, on the contrary, takes time for calm deliberation and weighs the pros and cons in the scale of a well balanced judgment before arriving at any definite decision.  But my reason in this case will soon become apparent to you.  I do not intend to keep a boy at all.”