the morning. How's that?"

"Oh, thank you, Mr. Blodgett. You're a regular dear--I mean you're
very kind."

"Don't change it, my dear. The first is good enough for me," the old
man laughed. He was thinking what a refreshing little picture his
small window framed in. Was it like this his little girl would have
looked if she had grown into girlhood? He gazed after the Flyaway One
wistfully.

It was still early in the morning, and Glory loitered about in the
crisp September sunshine with an hour of time to "kill." There was
but one early train to Centre Town, and that left Douglas at seven.
It had not been so bad, of course, when the other girls came, too,
but now!--Glory sighed pensively. So many things were bad now. The
sun might just as well be snuffed out like a candle and it be raining
torrents, for all the joy there was in living!

"That was my fourth Latin lexicon," Glory exclaimed suddenly, with a
vivid vision of Aunt Hope's grieved face. "I left two out in the
rain, and lost a lot of leaves out of another, and now this one's
gone on a tour! Poor auntie! I guess she might as well keep right on
calling me Little Disappointment."

It was an unpropitious beginning for the new term. Glory was obliged
to refuse three times to recite, on the plea of her lost books, and
double lessons loomed ahead of her dismally. But not for long--Glory
never allowed "making up" to dispirit her unduly. Studying, anyway,
was a nuisance, and the less time you let it give you the blues, the
better. If you hadn't any books you couldn't study--naturally. Then
why gloom over it a whole day?

"Well, dear?" Aunt Hope said that night, as they sat in the twilight
together; "well, the beginning and the ending are the first day. How
has it been? You look happy enough--I can feel the corners of your
mouth, and they turn up!" The slender, cool fingers traveled over the
girl's face in their own privileged fashion.

Glory remembered the books and drew down her lips hastily.

"I've been naughty, auntie," she confessed softly.

"Oh, Glory!--again?"

"Yes'm, I'm afraid so. I'm afraid I've--lost something."

Aunt Hope drew a long, patient breath before she spoke. Her fingers
still lingered on the smooth cheeks and then wandered slowly to the
tangle of soft hair. The little girl half hidden from her by the dusk
was so dear to her!

"Tell me about it, Little Disappointment," Aunt Hope said at length.
And Glory told her story penitently.

"But