man that she liked a great deal, but her sister
said she was too young to keep company, and there might be next winter
in New York.

It spoke volumes for the wholesome, sensible nature of Betty Leverett
that she could take her olden place in the household, assist her mother,
and entertain her father with the many interesting events of her gay and
happy winter.

CHAPTER XIV

IN THE SPRING

The matter had settled itself so easily that Doris could not find much
opportunity for sorrow, nor misgivings for her joy. She could not see
the struggle there had been in Uncle Leverett's mind, and the sturdy
common sense that had come to his assistance. He could recall habits of
second-cousin Charles that were like a woman's for daintiness, and
Winthrop Adams had the same touch of refinement and delicacy. It was in
the Adams blood, doubtless. Aunt Priscilla had not a large share, but he
had noted some of it in Elizabeth. It pervaded every atom of Doris'
slender body and every cell of her brain. She never would take to the
rougher, coarser things of life; indeed, why should she when there was
no need? He had wandered so far from the orthodox faith that he began to
question useless discipline.

Winthrop could understand and care for her better. She would grow up in
his house to the kind of girl nature had meant her to be. Here the
useful, that might never come in use, would be mingled and confused with
what was necessary. He had watched her trying to achieve the stocking
that all little girls could knit at her age. It was as bad as Penelope's
web. Aunt Elizabeth pulled it out after she had gone to bed, and knit
two or three "rounds," so as not to utterly discourage her inapt pupil.
But Doris had set up some lace on a "cushion," after Madam Sheafe's
direction, and it grew a web of beauty under her dainty fingers.

It was not as if Doris would be quite lost to them. They would see her
every day or two. And when it was decided that Aunt Priscilla would
come he was really glad. Aunt Priscilla's captious talk did not always
proceed from an unkindly heart.

Betty made a violent protest at first.

"After all, it will not be quite so bad as I thought," she admitted
presently. "I shall go to Uncle Win's twice as often, and I have always
been so fond of him. And things _are_ prettier there, somehow. There is
a great difference in the way people live, and I mean to change some
things. It isn't because one is ashamed to be old-f