than of the more dignified
'Peers.'"

Then Aunt Betty must know the outcome of the dislike expressed for
Dorothy by Gwendolyn Borst-Kennard, so the girl recounted her
subsequent adventures, including her rescue of Gwendolyn from the
water, and the English girl's brave act in saving Dorothy from a
frightful slide down a precipice.

"Just think! You were in deadly danger and I knew nothing of it,"
said Aunt Betty, a sternly reproving note in her voice.

"But think, dear Aunt Betty, of the worry it would have caused you.
It was all over in a few moments, and I was safe and sound again. If
I had written you then, you would have felt that I was in constant
peril, whereas my escape served as a lesson to me not to be careless,
and you would have worried over nothing."

"Perhaps you are right, Dorothy; at any rate, now I have you with me,
I am not going to quarrel. I'm sure your adventure was merely the
result of being thoughtless."

"It was. And Gwendolyn's rescue was simply magnificent, auntie. Her
only thought at that moment seemed for me."

"We will try to thank her in a substantial manner some day, my dear."

"I should dearly love to have her visit me at Bellvieu, if only to
show the cold, aristocratic young lady the warmth and sincerity of a
Southern reception."

"And perhaps you will have the opportunity. But not this summer. I
have other plans for you."

"Now, you are arousing my curiosity again," said Dorothy, in a
disappointed tone. "Please, Aunt Betty, tell me what is on your
mind."

"All in good time, my dear."

"Has it--has it anything to do with Uncle Seth?" the girl queried, a
slight tremor in her voice. Somehow, she felt that the death of the
"Learned Blacksmith," with whom Aunt Betty had been so intimate for
years, had been responsible in a measure for the present poor state
of her health.

"Yes; it has to do with your Uncle Seth, poor man. His death, as you
have probably imagined, was a great shock to me. I felt as though I
had lost a brother. And then, the news of his demise came so
suddenly. It was his dearest wish that you become a great musician.
You will remember how he encouraged and developed your talent while
we were at Deerhurst, arranging with Mr. Wilmot to give you lessons?
He has frequently expressed himself as not being satisfied with your
progress. Shortly before his death I had a letter from him, in which
he urged me to employ one of the best violin teachers in Baltimore
for yo