of doors was the concentration
of delight. The handsome town, the picturesque houses, where late
blooming flowers were a delight on many a lawn, the peaceful winding
river whose shadows seemed to depict a fascinating underworld, the
rising ground beyond with its magnificent trees, its tangled nooks of
shrubbery with scarlet berries, so stirred Lilian's fine nature that she
felt as if she must burst into poesy.

No, she would never give up the splendid, inspiriting dreams of youth.
Ambitious and noble natures are often haunted by romantic ideals and
glimpses of the future reaching up to unharmful standards that did seem
possible. These dreams were better than the feverish, vitiating novels
some of the girls poured over in private.

She was making a warm friend of Edith Trenham, who was often puzzled by
her. How did she get this wonderful insight into such a beautiful world
full of possible endeavor.

The simple prettiness of the Trenham home was very charming to her. This
was what she would make for her mother, only there would be a little
more. Portfolios of engravings, a vase from Japan, a curious Indian
ornament with ages back of it. Already Barrington House was shaping her
taste in many matters.

Then it was a pleasure to talk to the imaginative Claire who reveled in
the Knights of Arthur's time, the tastes of Mythology which she twisted
about to suit her fancy.

"I like Miss Lilian so much," she would say. "She has traveled in so
many countries. She knows all about Eskimo babies and little Chinese
girls who can't go anywhere because they have such crooked feet. And we
play at going to see them, and they give us such curious things to eat.
And there are real little Greek children, who lived in Bible times. Oh,
it's just lovely!"

"You make Claire very happy," Edith would say in a fond tone.

"I like to make her happy, and I want to make my mother happy. She has
had such a hard life."

"You are a dear daughter."

Was she being a dear daughter to her mother? Mrs. Boyd seemed to grow
more distant, more dreary and absent. Sometimes between classes she
would run in and take her mother's work, read to her evenings, but then
she always fell asleep; but the girl went on. It was more company to
read aloud. Just now she was deep in the making of Beautiful Florence.
Oh, would she ever get to know all the famous cities of the world?

How the time sped on! There was one snow storm, not a very deep one, but
enough to