in her hands. Debby had grown
alive and alert. She knew the standing of the schools throughout the
State, and in what particular line of study or discipline each one
excelled.

For months, she studied catalogues and estimated expenses. She had never
made a study of psychology; but she understood that Hester had reached
the most impressionable age of her life. Each thought and word would
leave its marks upon her. Debby, who believed firmly that tendencies are
inherited, had always with her the fear that Hester would show the
tendencies of an alien race. Her one consolation was that much may be
overcome by training, and too, perhaps, there was in Hester's veins only
a drop of darker blood.

No one understood the position in which Debby Alden was placed. She
always held herself responsible for the death of Hester's mother. Duty
had compelled her to take care of the child, until love had come to her
as a reward for the fulfillment of duty.

There was no one to whom she could speak concerning Hester and her fears
in regard to her. One thing she had done and would do; she would keep
the child far removed from any influence which would tend to the
strengthening of those traits which are supposed rightfully to belong to
the race of slaves.

Debby consulted principals and teachers and read and re-read catalogues.
At length, she decided upon Dickinson Seminary as the school which came
nearest to fulfilling her desires for Hester.

Hester had always been sweet and submissive to Debby Alden. The girl had
more than love for the woman who was mother and father both to her.
Mingled with Hester's love for Debby was an inexpressible gratitude.
Hester realized how much Debby had done and was doing for her. But it
was not the dainty dresses and good home that touched her most. Debby
Alden had given the waif her mother's name, and Hester never wrote in
her big angular hand, Hester Palmer Alden, without feeling a glow of
pride. She had a name of which to be proud, a name which Debby Alden had
always held dear.

"It was the very kindest thing Aunt Debby could do," was a thought which
came often to Hester. "She must have loved me even from the first, or
she would have never given me her own name. She's so proud of being an
Alden. Their name has never had a bit of shame or disgrace touch it."
Then she added an afterthought, "and it never will through me."

One day she brought up the subject of the Alden name while in
conversation wit