ome to the ship and given her the first
greeting and brought her home. Yes, she supposed she _was_ his little
girl. Guardians were to take care of one's money; you did not have to
live with them, of course. Uncle Leverett was something in a business
way, too; and he loved her. She knew that without any explanation. She
was quite sure Uncle Win loved her also, but her real place was in
Sudbury Street.

Friday afternoon she was curled up by the fire reading, looking like a
big kitten, if you had seen only her gray frock. Uncle Win had glanced
at her every now and then. He did not mind having her around--not as
much, in fact, as Cary, who tumbled books about and moved chairs noisily
and kept one's nerves astir all the time, as a big healthy fellow whose
body has grown so fast that he hardly knows what to do with his long
arms and legs is apt to do.

Doris was like a little mouse. She never rattled the leaves when she
turned them over, she never put books in the cases upside down, she did
not finger papers or anything that lay on the table when she stood by
it. He had a fancy that all children were meddlesome and curious and
given to asking queer questions: these were the things he remembered
about Cary in those first years of sorrow when he could hardly bear him
out of his sight.

Instead, Doris was restful with her quaint ways. She did not run against
chairs nor move a stool so that the legs emitted a "screak" of agony,
and she could sit still for an hour at a time if she had a book. Of
course, being a girl she ought to sew instead.

It was getting quite dusky. Uncle Winthrop came and stirred the fire and
put on a pine log, then drew up his chair.

"Put away your book, Doris. You will try your eyes."

She shut it up and came and stood by him. He passed his arm around her.

"Uncle Win, there was a time when people had to read and sew by the
blaze of logs and torches. There were no candles."

"They did it not so many years ago here. I dare say they are still doing
it out in country places. They go to bed early."

"What seems queer to me is that people are continually finding out
things. They must at one time have been very ignorant. No, they could
not have been either," reflectively. "For just think how Adam named the
animals. And Miss Arabella said that Job knew all about the stars and
called them by their names. But perhaps it was the little things like
candles and such. Yet they had lamps ever and ever so long