k of silver
and glass betraying his occupation.

Mrs. Ashby had gone upstairs with Athol to unearth some treasures he
wished to take back to school with him. The big house was very silent, a
peaceful, restful spirit pervading it.

Upon the hearth in the study the logs blazed brightly, filling the big
room with a rich, red glow and the sweet odor of burning spruce.

For some time neither Beverly nor her uncle had spoken. He was thinking
intently of the confessions just made as he gazed at the darting flames
and absently stroked the hand she had slipped into his, her other one
gently patting his shoulder. Now and again she kissed the thick, silvery
curls which crowned the dear old head.

Presently he said abruptly:

"And now that you've gotten your load of sins off your shoulders and
bundled onto mine do you feel better?"

"No, I can't say that I do, but I had to unload all the same. There is no
one at the school to unload upon, you see. Besides, it could never be
like you, any way. You always let things sort of percolate, before you
let off steam, but it's mostly all steam, or _hot air_, at Leslie Manor."

"Reckon you can supply your share of the latter, can't you?" was the half
serious, half-bantering retort.

"Somehow, I haven't felt exactly hot-airy since I've been there. It makes
me feel more steamy; as though I'd blow up sometimes. It seems so sort
of--of--oh, I don't know just how to tell you. I'd _like_ to like Miss
Woodhull but she'd freeze a polar bear, and I believe she just hates
girls even though she keeps a girl's school. And Miss Stetson must have
been fed on vinegar when she was a baby, and Miss Baylis is the _limit_,
and Miss Forsdyke lives in Rome."

"Is anybody just right?" asked the Admiral, quizzically.

"Some of them would be all right if they had half a chance or dared. Mrs.
Bonnel is a dear. Miss Dalton's lovely, but has no chance to prove it.
Miss Powell is the most loveable girl you ever knew and the little
kindergarteners adore her. Miss Forsdyke would be lovely if she wasn't
scared to death of Miss Woodhull and Miss Atwell would be sort of nice if
she wasn't so silly. Oh, Uncle Athol if you only _could_ see her pose and
make us do stunts! And she's just like a jelly fish; all floppy and
tumble-a-party. I feel just exactly as though I hadn't a bone in my body
after two hours flopping 'round under her instructions."

"What in thunder do they waste time on such nonsense for?" blurted o