have great times studying."

"That is good. Wife worried a little about school. Now I must go.
Good-night. You will surely be home on Saturday."

"Good-night," returned the soft voice.

Somehow the supper was very quiet. Doris had begun to read aloud to Miss
Recompense "The Story of Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia." She did not
like it as well as her dear Vicar, but Uncle Win said it was good. He
was not quite sure of the Vicar for such a child. So she read along very
well for a while, and then she yawned.

"You were up late last night and you must go to bed," said the elder
lady.

Doris was ready. She _was_ sleepy, but somehow she did not drop asleep
all in a minute. There was a grave subject to consider. All day she was
thinking how splendid it would be if Uncle Win should ask her to come
here and live. She liked him. She liked the books and the curiosities
and the talks and the teaching. Uncle Win was so much more interesting
than Mrs. Webb, who flung questions at you in a way that made you jump
if you were not paying strict attention. There were other delights that
she could not explain to herself. And the books, the leisure to sit and
think. For careful Aunt Elizabeth said--"Have you hung up your cloak,
Doris? Are you sure you know your spelling? I do wonder if you will ever
get those tables perfect! The idea of such a big girl not knowing how to
knit a stocking! Don't sit there looking into the fire and dreaming,
Doris; attend to your book. Jimmie boy is away ahead of you in some
things."

And here she could sit and dream. Of course she was not going to school.
Miss Recompense did not think of something all the time. She had learned
a sort of graciousness since she had lived with Mr. Winthrop Adams.
True, she had nothing to worry about--no children to advance in life, no
husband whose business she must be anxiously considering. She had a snug
little sum of money, and was adding to it all the time, and she was
still a long way from old age. Doris could not have understood the
difference in both position and demands, but she enjoyed the atmosphere
of ease. And there was a certain aspect of luxury, a freedom from the
grinding exactions of conscience that had been trained to keep
continually on the alert lest one "fall into temptation."

"He had wanted to see his little girl. He was lonesome without her."

She could see the longing in Uncle Leverett's face and hear his wistful
voice there in the dark. He had c