ra said as they went down to lunch.

"Oh, we are!" modestly replied Carl.

When this was over she was taken into a large room full of books and
beautiful things, among them two portraits. One of these was of a
white-haired man whose eyes seemed to smile at her as Bess said, "This
is Grandfather;" the other face had something about it so like Bess's
own that her low-toned explanation, "This is Mamma," was not needed.

After all, they had not quite everything.

When Carl went over to see Ikey about something, they seized the
opportunity to play the Carletons, it being a game that the masculine
mind scorned. They sat under the same chestnut tree, and the black cat
joined them, and was formally introduced to Dora as Mr. Smith.
Everything was quiet in the neighborhood, somebody was cutting the
grass not far away, and it really might have been mistaken for that
afternoon two weeks ago, except that the girl who was then on the
carriage-block was now in the garden. To make the resemblance
complete, who should drive up but Uncle William, calling to know if
anybody wanted to go to the country.

The Carletons were promptly consigned to the seclusion of the atlas,
while the romancers ran for their hats.

It was almost dark when Dora was set down at her own door, merry and
rosy.

"Good-by! and do ask your mother to let you go to our school," her
friends called, waving their handkerchiefs as they turned the corner.
That happy day settled it. Dora and the Hazeltines became fast
friends. Everybody liked her, the grown people as well as the
children. Even Aunt Marcia pronounced her a most well-behaved little
girl, and hoped Bess and Louise would profit by her example. Carl
claimed the credit of having discovered her, and Carie always referred
to her as "My Dora."

CHAPTER VI.

THE MAGIC DOOR.

When Miss Brown said of the Big Front Door that it made her cheerful
simply to look at it, she had no idea, nor had anyone else, how much
was going to grow out of it.

First of all was the story Uncle William told one stormy Sunday
evening before the wood fire in the library.

It had been a trying day to the children, with the rain coming
steadily down, their father away, and Aunt Zelie sick with a cold.
Perhaps it was not to be wondered at that by afternoon they had grown
"cantankerous," as Sukey expressed it, and that something very like
quarrelling had gone on in the star chamber.

This was all forgotten when the early