place in the hearts of the brothers and
sisters who barely remembered her at all. Leicester had been nine and
Jean seven when Dorinda went away; now they were respectively fourteen
and twelve.

At first they were a little shy with this big, practically brand-new
sister, but this soon wore off. Nobody could be shy long with Dorinda;
nobody could help liking her. She was so brisk and jolly and
sympathetic--a real Page, so everybody said--while the brothers and
sisters were Carter to their marrow; Carters with fair hair and blue
eyes, and small, fine, wistful features; but Dorinda had merry black
eyes, plump, dusky-red cheeks, and a long braid of glossy dark hair,
which was perpetually being twitched from one shoulder to another as
Dorinda whisked about the house on domestic duties intent.

In a week Dorinda felt herself one of the family again, with all the
cares and responsibilities thereof resting on her strong young
shoulders. Dorinda and her mother talked matters out fully one
afternoon over their sewing, in the sunny south room where the winds
got lost among the vines halfway through the open window. Mrs. Page
sighed and said she really did not know what to do. Dorinda did not
sigh; she did not know just what to do either, but there must be
something that could be done--there is always something that can be
done, if one can only find it. Dorinda sewed hard and pursed up her
red lips determinedly.

"Don't you worry, Mother Page," she said briskly. "We'll be like that
glorious old Roman who found a way or made it. I like overcoming
difficulties. I've lots of old Admiral Page's fighting blood in me,
you know. The first step is to tabulate just exactly what difficulties
among our many difficulties must be ravelled out first--the capital
difficulties, as it were. Most important of all comes--"

"Leicester," said Mrs. Page.

Dorinda winked her eyes as she always did when she was doubtful.

"Well, I knew he was one of them, but I wasn't going to put him the
very first. However, we will. Leicester's case stands thus. He is a
pretty smart boy--if he wasn't my brother, I'd say he was a very smart
boy. He has gone as far in his studies as Willowdale School can take
him, has qualified for entrance into the Blue Hill Academy, wants to
go there this fall and begin the beginnings of a college course. Well,
of course, Mother Page, we can't send Leicester to Blue Hill any more
than we can send him to the moon."

"No," mourn