her an advantage. Also, she
was ahead of him in history, botany, and rhetoric. Donald, though full
of boyish spirit, was steadier, more self-possessed than Dorothy, and in
algebra and physical geography he "left her nowhere," as the young lady
herself would tersely confess when in a very good humor. But never were
brother and sister better friends. "She's first-rate," Don would say,
confidentially, to some boon companion, "not a bit like a girl, you
know,--more like--well, no, there's nothing tomboyish about her, but
she's spirited and never gets tired or sickish like other girls." And
many a time Dorothy had declared to some choice confidential friend of
the twining-arms sort, that Donald was "perfectly splendid! nicer than
all the boys she ever had seen, put together."

On one point they were fully united, and that was in their love for
Uncle George, though of late it seemed that he was constantly making
rough weather for them.

This expression, "rough weather," is not original, but is borrowed from
Sailor Jack, whom you soon shall know nearly as well as the two D's did.

And "the two D's" is not original either. That is Liddy's. She called
Donald and Dorothy "the two D's" for brevity's sake, when they were not
present, just as she often spoke of the master of the house, in his
absence, as "Mr. G." There was no thought of disrespect in this. It was
a way that had come upon her after she had learned her alphabet in
middle life, and had stopped just at the point of knowing or guessing
the first letter of a word or a name. Farther than that into the paths
of learning, Liddy's patience had failed to carry her. But the use of
initials she felt was one of the short cuts that education afforded.
Besides, the good soul knew secrets which, without her master's
permission, nothing would induce her to reveal. So, to speak of "Mr. G."
or "the D's," had a confidential air of mystery about it that in some
way was a great relief to her.

Mr. George was known by his lady friends as "a confirmed bachelor, but a
most excellent man," the "but" implying that every well-to-do gentleman
ought to marry, and "the excellent man" referring to the fact that ever
since the children had been brought to him, fourteen years before, two
helpless little babies, he had given them more than a father's care. He
was nearly fifty years of age, a tall, "iron-gray" gentleman, with the
courtliest of manners and the warmest of hearts; yet he was, as Liddy