ugh to face the world by myself.

"Well, daddy, I have been teaching for more than a week, and haven't
had one cry over it. Isn't that courage for you? Not that my pupils
are all angels, oh, no, this is not heaven, dear dad, but it is
really a very nice place, and there are some dear people here.

"Did you ever happen to meet a Mr. William Hunt and his wife? He is
a very good sort, and she is a perfect darling, one of those rare
flowers whose fragrance fills the air even on the highway; not one
of the hothouse kind that has been forced to bloom out of season,
for out of season and in season she is always blooming and shedding
forth her sweetness." Miss Dorothy paused.

"Oh, but Miss Dorothy, I could never write like that," exclaimed
Marian in an awe-stricken tone.

"Perhaps not just like that, but you can tell him about yourself and
about the people you know, Mrs. Hunt, for instance, and your
schoolmates, and Tippy and Dippy."

"And you?"

"Yes, and me, if you like."

"Oh, very well, I will try again. I didn't know we ought to write
letters like that."

"That is the very kind we should write. I will finish mine while you
do yours." So for the next few minutes the tapping of the typewriter
drowned the scratching of Miss Dorothy's pen, which flew steadily
over her paper.

At last Miss Dorothy looked up. "There," she exclaimed, "I have
finished mine. How are you getting on?"

"Oh, much better. I have written ever so much. I am almost at the
bottom of the page, and I think you will have to put another sheet
in for me, if you will be so good."

"I'll do it with pleasure. May I see what you have written, or would
you rather not?"

"Oh, please look. I have told him about school and about you and
some of the girls. There is a great deal more I could say, but I
will leave out Tippy and Dippy this time."

Miss Dorothy read down the page and at the end she stooped and
kissed the child. "You have paid me a lovely compliment, dear," she
said. "I am glad you feel that way," for Marian had written: "We
have the loveliest teacher in the world. Her name is Miss Dorothy
Robbins. She is like Mrs. Hunt, but can understand little girls
better, for she is younger and prettier. I love her very much."

At last the letter was finished, folded and addressed, and Miss
Dorothy promised to mail it herself. It had been a great undertaking
for Marian, who was quite tired out by her afternoon's work, but who
was very happy now that