r leaving the
station, you climb through the little town clinging to the hillside; and
Honora was struck by the quaint houses and shops which had been places
of barter before the Revolution. The age of things appealed to her. It
was a brilliant day at the very end of September, the air sharp, and
here and there a creeper had been struck crimson. Beyond the town, on
the slopes, were other new sights to stimulate the imagination: country
houses--not merely houses in the country, but mansions--enticingly
hidden among great trees in a way to whet Honora's curiosity as she
pictured to herself the blissful quality of the life which their owners
must lead. Long, curving driveways led up to the houses from occasional
lodges; and once, as though to complete the impression, a young man
and two women, superbly mounted, came trotting out of one of these
driveways, talking and laughing gayly. Honora took a good look at the
man. He was not handsome, but had, in fact, a distinguished and haunting
ugliness. The girls were straight-featured and conventional to the last
degree.

Presently they came to the avenue of elms that led up to the long, low
buildings of the school.

Little more will be necessary, in the brief account of Honora's life at
boarding-school, than to add an humble word of praise on the excellence
of Miss Turner's establishment. That lady, needless to say, did not
advertise in the magazines, or issue a prospectus. Parents were more
or less in the situation of the candidates who desired the honour and
privilege of whitewashing Tom Sawyer's fence. If you were a parent,
and were allowed to confide your daughter to Miss Turner, instead of
demanding a prospectus, you gave thanks to heaven, and spoke about it to
your friends.

The life of the young ladies, of course, was regulated on the strictest
principles. Early rising, prayers, breakfast, studies; the daily walk,
rain or shine, under the watchful convoy of Miss Hood, the girls in
columns of twos; tennis on the school court, or skating on the school
pond. Cotton Mather himself could not have disapproved of the Sundays,
nor of the discourse of the elderly Doctor Moale (which you heard if you
were not a Presbyterian), although the reverend gentleman was distinctly
Anglican in appearance and manners. Sometimes Honora felt devout, and
would follow the service with the utmost attention. Her religion came
in waves. On the Sundays when the heathen prevailed she studied the
co