t a letter in my hand, which I, wondering, read. It said, the
letter did, that papa was not at ease about me; that he was not
satisfied with my aunt's report of me, nor with the style of my late
letters; and begged Dr. Sandford would run down to Magnolia at his
earliest convenience and see me, and make inquiry as to my well-being;
and if he found things not satisfactory, as my father feared he might,
and judge that the rule of Miss Pinshon had not been good for me on
the whole, my father desired that Dr. Sandford would take measures to
have me removed to the North and placed in one of the best schools
there to be found; such a one as Mrs. Sandford might recommend. The
letter further desired that Dr. Sandford would keep a regular watch
over my health, and suffer no school training nor anything else to
interfere with it; expressing the writer's confidence that Dr.
Sandford knew better than any one what was good for me.

"So you see, Daisy," the doctor said, when I handed him back the
letter, "your father has constituted me in some sort your guardian
until such time as he comes back."

"I am very glad," I said, smiling.

"Are you? That is kind. I am going to act upon my authority
immediately, and take you away."

"From Magnolia?" I said breathlessly.

"Yes. Wouldn't you like to go and see Melbourne again for a little
while?"

"Melbourne!" said I; and I remember how my cheeks grew warm.
"But--will Miss Pinshon go to Melbourne?"

"No; she will not. Nor anywhere else, Daisy, with my will and
permission, where you go. Will that distress you very much?"

I could not say yes, and I believe I made no answer, my thoughts were
in such a whirl.

"Is Mrs. Sandford in Melbourne--I mean, near Melbourne--now?" I asked
at length.

"No, she is in Washington. But she will be going to the old place
before long. Would you like to go, Daisy?"

I could hardly tell him. I could hardly think. It began to rush over
me, that this parting from Magnolia was likely to be for a longer time
than usual. The river murmured by--the sunlight shone on the groves on
the hillside. Who would look after my poor people?

"You like Magnolia after all?" said the doctor. "I do not wonder, so
far as Magnolia goes, you are sorry to leave it."

"No," I said, "I am not sorry at all to leave Magnolia; I am very
glad. I am only sorry to leave--some friends."

"Friends?" said the doctor.

"Yes."

"How many friends?"

"I don't know," said I. "I thin