d over these solemnities; they were
grave, housekeeping, Mrs. Simcoe-kind of people. Julia and Mary were
exhorted to behave themselves like little ladies, and the frolic ended
by their all taking books from the library shelves and sitting properly
in a large chair, or on the sofa, or even upon the piazza, if it had been
nicely dusted and inspected, until the setting sun sent them away with
the calmest kisses at parting.

As Hope grew older she had teachers at home--recluse old scholars,
decayed clergymen in shiny black coats, who taught her Latin, and looked
at her through round spectacles, and, as they looked, remembered that
they were once young. She had teachers of history, of grammar, of
arithmetic--of all English studies. Some of these Mentors were weak-eyed
fathers of ten children, who spoke so softly that their wives must have
had loud voices. Others were young college graduates, with low collars
and long hair, who read with Miss Wayne in English literature, while Mrs.
Simcoe sat knitting in the next chair. Then there had been the Italian
music-masters, and the French teachers, very devoted, never missing a
lesson, but also never missing Mrs. Simcoe, who presided over all
instruction which was imparted by any Mentor under sixty.

But when Hope grew older still and found Byron upon the shelves of the
Library, his romantic sadness responded to the vague longing of her
heart. Instinctively she avoided all that repels a woman in his verses,
as she would have avoided the unsound parts of a fruit. But the solitary,
secluded girl lived unconsciously and inevitably in a dream world, for
she had no knowledge of any other, nor contact with it. Proud and shy,
her heart was restless, her imagination morbid, and she believed in
heroes.

When Dr. Peewee had told Mr. Burt all that he knew about the project of
the school, Mr. Burt rang the bell violently.

"Send Miss Hope to me."

The servant disappeared, and in a few moments Hope Wayne entered the
room. To Dr. Peewee's eyes she seemed wrapped only in a cloud of delicate
muslin, and the wind had evidently been playing with her golden hair, for
she had been lying upon the lawn reading Byron.

"Did you want me, grandfather?"

"Yes, my dear. Mr. Gray, a respectable person, is coming here to set up a
school. There will be a great many young men and boys. I shall never ask
them to the house. I hate boys. I expect you to hate them too."

"Yes--yes, my dear," said Dr. Peewee;