boy had died; and Betty, the
youngest, was sixteen, pretty, and a little spoiled, of course. Yet Aunt
Priscilla had a curious fondness for her, which she insisted to herself
was very reprehensible, since Betty was such a feather-brained girl.

"It is to be hoped the ship did get in to-day," Aunt Priscilla began
presently. "If there's anything I hate, it's being on tenterhooks."

"She was spoken this morning. There's always more or less delay with
pilots and tides and what not," replied Mrs. Leverett.

"The idea of sending a child like that alone! The weather has been fine,
but we don't know how it was on the ocean."

"Captain Grier is a friend of Uncle Win's, you know," appended Betty.

"Betty, do try and call your relatives by their proper names. An elderly
man, too! It does sound so disrespectful! Young folks of to-day seem to
have no regard for what is due other people. Oh----"

There was a kind of stamping and shuffling on the porch, and the door
was flung open, letting in a gust of autumnal air full of spicy odors
from the trees and vines outside. Betty sprang up, while her mother
followed more slowly. There were her father and her brother Warren, and
the latter had by the hand the little girl who had crossed the ocean to
come to the famous city of the New World, Boston. Almost two hundred
years before an ancestor had crossed from old Boston, in the ship
_Arabella_, and settled here, taking his share of pilgrim hardships.
Doris' father, when a boy, had been sent back to England to be adopted
as the heir of a long line. But the old relative married and had two
sons of his own, though he did well by the boy, who went to France and
married a pretty French girl. After seven years of unbroken happiness
the sweet young wife had died. Then little Doris, six years of age, had
spent two years in a convent. From there her father had taken her to
Lincolnshire and placed her with two elderly relatives, while he was
planning and arranging his affairs to come back to America with his
little daughter. But one night, being out with a sailing party, a sudden
storm had caught them and swept them out of life in an instant.

Second-cousin Charles Adams had been in correspondence with him, and
advised him to return. Being in feeble health, he had included him and
his heirs in his will, appointing his nephew Winthrop Adams executor,
and died before the news of the death of his distant relative had
reached him. The Lincolnshire lad