long while after he came home last
night; it must have been past midnight when he went to bed. I wish he
did not get so deeply interested in improvements and everything. And if
we are to be bombarded and destroyed I don't see any sense in laying out
new streets and filling up ponds and wasting the money of the town."

It seemed to Doris as if she could not swallow a mouthful. She tried
heroically. Then she went out and gathered a bunch of roses for Uncle
Win's study. She generally read French and Latin a while with him in the
morning. Then she made her bed, dusted her room, put her books in her
satchel and went to school in an unwilling sort of fashion. How long the
morning seemed! Then there was a half-hour in deportment--we should call
it physical culture at present. All the girls were gay and chatty.
Eudora told her about a new lace stitch. Grandmamma had been out
yesterday where there was such an elegant Spanish woman with coal-black
eyes and hair. Her family had fled to this country to escape the horrors
of war. They had been rich, but were now quite poor, and she was
thinking of having a needlework class.

Did Eudora know Cary had gone away?

Uncle Win came out to dinner. She was a little late. He glanced up and
gave a faint half-smile, but, oh, how deadly pale he was!

"Dear Uncle Winthrop--is your headache better?" she asked with gentle
solicitude.

"A little," he said gravely.

It was a very quiet meal. Although Mr. Winthrop Adams had a delicate
appearance, he was rarely ill. Now there were deep rings under his eyes,
and the utter depression was sad indeed to behold.

Doris nearly always ran in the study and gossiped girlishly about the
morning's employments. Now she sauntered out on the porch. There was
neither music nor writing class. She wondered if she had better sew. She
was learning to do that quite nicely, but the stocking still remained a
puzzle.

"Doris," said a gentle voice through the open window; and the sadness
pierced her heart.

She rose and went in. Solomon lay on his cushion in the corner, and even
he, she thought, had a troubled look in his eyes. Uncle Win sat by the
table, and there lay Cary's letter.

She put her arms about his neck and pressed her soft warm cheek against
his, so cool that it startled her.

"My clear little Doris," he began. "I am childless. I have no son. Cary
has gone away, against my wishes, in the face of my prohibition. I do
not suppose he will ever return