go to bed and forget all about it. You are a noble little
girl." Bending forward he kissed her tenderly.

Wondering and happy the girl retired, almost incredulous of the joy that
had come to her.

Chapter XXV

The Door Is Opened

"Butterfly-haunted, the great purple asters
Throng, gold-hearted, the edge of the road;
Low to the grass the green boughs of the orchard
Heavily droop with their ruddy-hued load."

--_Marian Warner Wildman._

Every precaution was used to prevent the small pox from obtaining a
foothold in Walnut Grove, and so efficacious were the measures adopted
by Doctor Raymond and the physician, Doctor Black, that the household
escaped unscathed. Old Rachel died; and, as hers proved to be the sole
case in the community, it could only be conjectured how she had taken
the disease.

The solicitude manifested by the scientist for his daughter at this
period established very tender relations between them. After the pangs
and heart burnings of the summer it seemed like paradise to Bee. As it
became apparent that the small pox was not to attack his household
Doctor Raymond became once more absorbed in his labors, and remained
such long hours in his study that Beatrice could not but wonder at it.

She was pondering the matter one morning as she went to the study door
with her usual nosegay of flowers. She had not yet received permission
to re-enter the room, and had been puzzled about getting the blossoms to
him, but had solved the question by placing a small stand by the door,
and setting the matutinal offering upon it. Upon this particular morning
as she stood arranging the bouquet more to her liking the door opened,
and her father appeared on the threshold.

"Bring in the flowers yourself, Beatrice," he said.

"May I?" cried Bee flushing rosy red with pleasure. "Am I really to go
in at last, father?"

"Yes, my daughter. Your place is waiting for you."

Gladly, yet almost timidly, Bee entered the study. It seemed a long,
long time since she had been in it, yet in reality it was but a few
weeks. With eyes that misted she glanced lovingly at the familiar
objects: the books, the manuscripts, her father's chair, and lastly at
her own place at the table. Before it lay her pencil and note book.

"It has been waiting for you, Beatrice," said

Doctor Raymond with a smile noting her glance. "I have missed my little
helper."

"Have you, father?" she asked shyly.

"Very