f a larger Woodbridge. It was the Dean's
duty to keep these malcontents, these radicals--some of whom were
powerful--in their places. Quality not quantity had ever been the
Woodbridge cry, and it should remain so as long as he had any power. In
other respects, however, he was as gentle as one could well be. In the
matter of motoring, for example, he was so gentle that to the untutored
eye he might seem almost timid. He had viewed the rise of the motor car
with all the misgivings of a lover of the Old Ways, long refusing to
accompany his wife on her hectic flights, but at last he had consented
to buy an electric. For three dreadful weeks he ran it in agony or
apprehension. It was not that he might run into people: there was no
danger there, for even if he had bumped into some one, the damage would
have been only very trifling. No, the terrible thought was what the
reckless people might do who would crash into him. So at the end of the
three weeks he abandoned the lever and, bringing Murdock in from the
stable, definitely transformed him into his chauffeur. The picture that
he presented was, he realized, somewhat sedate, but at least he was no
longer taking foolhardy chances, and he could now, furthermore, see
something as he went along. "When are you expecting Nancy?" he asked
Henry.

"Oh, I supposed Mary had told you. Why, she is coming day after
tomorrow. Henry Third is very much excited. He has been making a
collection for her as a present. I didn't know anything about it until
the other day when Annie told me. It seems that he has been very much
impressed by a postal card from his Aunt Nancy showing a California
orange grove, and so he has been collecting orange pips ever since! He
now has over ninety and he is afraid she will arrive before he can get a
hundred. It seems to be a rule of the collection that his pips can only
be taken from oranges he's eaten, and as he only gets one a day at his
breakfast, there is no help for him."

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Henry, send him up here and I'll let him eat out
his hundred," said Mary.

"Fine person you are," laughed Whitman, "ruining my son's good habits."

They had passed out into the hall when the bell rang violently two or
three times.

"That must be mamma," said Mary, and going to the door, she opened it
for a majestic lady who swept into the room, talking volubly as she
began peeling off the shawls and capes in which she was wrapped.

"Why, Henry, dear, what on