y, and finished the
packing in better spirits. The good-by, however, was a sorry affair. The
girls cried; Dorry and Phil sniffed and looked fiercely at Miss Inches;
old Mary stood on the steps with her apron thrown over her head; and Dr.
Carr's face was so grave and sad that it quite frightened Johnnie. She
cried too, and clung to Katy. Almost she said, "I won't go," but she
thought of the eyeless fish, and didn't say it. The carriage drove off,
Miss Inches petted her, everything was new and exciting, and before long
she was happy again, only now and then a thought of home would come to
make her lips quiver and her eyes fill.

The wonderful Cave, with its vaults and galleries hung with glittering
crystals, its underground river and dark lake, was so like a fairy tale,
that Johnnie felt as if she _must_ go right back and tell the family at
home about it. She relieved her feelings by a long letter to Elsie,
which made them all laugh very much. In it she said, "Ellen Montgomery
didn't have any thing half so nice as the Cave, and Mamma Marion never
taps my lips." Miss Inches, it seemed, wished to be called "Mamma
Marion." Every mile of the journey was an enjoyment to Johnnie. Miss
Inches bought pretty presents for her wherever they stopped: altogether,
it was quite like being some little girl taking a beautiful excursion in
a story-book, instead of plain Johnnie Carr, and Johnnie felt that to be
an "adopted child" was every bit as nice as she had supposed, and even
nicer.

It was late in the evening when they reached Inches Mills, so nothing
could be seen of the house, except that it was big and had trees around
it. Johnnie went to sleep in a large bedroom with a huge double bed all
to herself, and felt very grown-up and important.

The next day was given to unpacking and seeing the grounds; after that,
Miss Inches said they must begin to lead a regular life, and Johnnie
must study. Johnnie had been to school all winter, and in the natural
course of things would have had holidays now. Mamma Marion, however,
declared that so long an idle time would not do at all.

"Education, my darling, is not a thing of periods," she explained. "It
should be like the air, absorbed, as it were, all the time, not like a
meal, eaten just so often in the day. This idea of teaching by paroxysms
is one of the fatal mistakes of the age."

So all that warm July Johnnie had French lessons and German, and lessons
in natural philosophy, beside s