well as she could, the plans and problems of her young
life. In very cold weather, a wood fire on the open hearth made the
corner doubly comfortable, and on mild days, a dark fire-board and a
great vase of dried grasses and red sumac branches made it seem to Dorry
the brightest place in the world.

Josie was so used to seeing her friend there that now, when she looked
in and found it empty, she turned back. The cosey corner was not itself
without Dorry.

"She's gone to the Danbys' after all," thought Josie, standing
irresolute for a moment.

"I'll run over and find her. No, I'll wait here."

So stepping into the cosey corner again, but shrugging her pretty
shoulders at its loneliness, she tossed her hood and shawl upon the
sofa, and, taking up a large book of photographic views that lay there,
seated herself just outside the screen, where she would be sure to see
Dorry if she should enter the room. Meantime, a pleasant heat came in
upon her from the warm hall, not a sound was to be heard, and she was
soon lost in the enjoyment of the book, which had carried her across the
seas, far into foreign scenes and places.

But Dorry was not at the Danbys' at all. She was over-head, in the
garret, kneeling beside a small leather trunk, which was studded with
tarnished brass nails.

How dusty it was!

"I don't believe even Liddy knew it was up here," thought Dorry, "for
the boys poked it out from away, 'way back under the rafters. If she had
known of it, she would have put it with the rest of the trunks."

Dorry laid the dusty lid back carefully, noting, as she did so, that it
was attached to the trunk by a strip of buff leather inside, extending
its entire length, and that its buff-paper lining was gay with sprays of
pink rose-buds. In one of the upper corners of the lid was a label
bearing this inscription:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
| Kate Reed. |
| From Papa. |
| October 1849. |
| For my Dolly. |
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Oh! it's Aunt Kate's own writing!" exclaimed Dorry, under her breath,
as, still kneeling, she read the words.

"'From Papa,'" she repeated slowly,--"_her_ Papa; that was Donald's and
my Grandfather. And she wrote this in October, 1849--ten whole years
before we were born! and when she was only a little girl herself!"

Then, with reverent hands Dorry lifted the top article--a soft, pink
muslin