." She leaned
over to speak to the driver, requesting him to stop at the Stoner place.

Elizabeth was too cold to look about her as they entered the house. She
was conscious only that an immense beech was stretching its bare boughs
before the doorway, then someone was leading her to an easy chair,
removing her wraps and rubbing her hands to make them warm. In a few
minutes she was herself. Mrs. Stoner had brought them hot coffee, and was
now putting bricks into the fireplace.

Elizabeth looked upon her in surprise. This was not the style of woman she
had pictured in her mind as Landis' mother. She was a faded, slender
little body, mild and gentle in manner and voice. One felt that she was
refined and had devoted the best of her life to serving others. She was
dressed in a plain dark calico, which had seen better days, yet its
absolute cleanliness and the band of white at her throat gave her an air
of being well-dressed.

The room, evidently the best in the house, was homey and comfortable.
There was an open fireplace big enough to accommodate a four-foot log, a
bright rag carpet, and some wooden rockers with easy cushions. The windows
had white sash curtains. In one were pots of blooming geraniums.

"I have never been at Exeter," Mrs. Stoner said. "Of course, I have heard
of it all my life. As a young girl, I used to dream what a fine thing it
would be to go there to school. But it was not to be. Landis, however, is
having that privilege, and I am very thankful. Miss Rice--you have met
her; every one hereabouts has--thinks that every girl should have a little
more than they get in public schools. She's made it possible for Landis to
go."

Their hostess then brought out some pictures Landis had sent home--kodak
views of the girls, their rooms, and the campus.

"You see," she added with a smile, "although I have never been at Exeter,
I know it well. Landis writes of the teachers and her girl friends until I
feel I know them thoroughly."

As the mother continued, her pale face lighting up, Elizabeth saw Landis
in a different light. The girl was evidently devoted to her mother, if one
could judge from the numerous letters and the many little souvenirs from
school displayed.

"It was dull for Landis here," she continued. "There is no company for
miles, and only her father and I at home. She did not want to leave us.
But I told her we were used to the quiet and were company for each other.
I miss her, of course, but