er the home,
Dorry, prettier, brighter, and sweeter every day, was the delight of the
household; her very faults to their partial eyes added to her charm;
for, according to Lydia, "they were uncommon innocent and funny, Miss
Dorry's ways were." In fact, the young lady, who had a strong will of
her own, would have been spoiled to a certainty but for her scorn of
affectation, her love of truth, and genuine faithfulness to whatever she
believed to be right.

Donald, on his part, was too boyish to be utterly cast down by the
secret that stood between him and Dorry; but his mind dwelt upon it
despite his efforts to dismiss every useless doubt.

Fortunately, Eben Slade had not again made his appearance in the
neighborhood. He had left Vanbogen's immediately after Jack had paid his
rough compliments to him, and he had not been seen there since. But at
any moment he might reappear at Lakewood and carry out his threat of
obtaining an interview with Dorry. This Donald dreaded of all things,
and he resolved that it should not come to pass. How to prevent it was
the question. He and his uncle had agreed that she must be spared not
only all knowledge of the secret, but all anxiety or suspicion
concerning her history; and they and Jack kept a constant lookout for
the disagreeable intruder.

Day by day, when alone, Donald pondered over the case, resolved upon
establishing his sister's identity, recalling again and again all that
his uncle had told him, and secretly devising plans that grew more and
more settled in his mind as time went on. Jack, who had been in Mr.
Reed's confidence from the first, was now taken fully into Donald's. He
was proud of the boy's fervor, but had little hope. Fourteen, nearly
fifteen, years was a long time, and if Ellen Lee had hidden herself
successfully in 1859 and since, why could she not do so still? Donald
had his own opinion. Evidently she had some reason for hiding, or
fancied she had; but she must be found, and if so, why should not he,
Donald Reed, find her? Yes, there was no other way. Donald was studying
logic at the time, and had committed pages of it to memory in the most
dutiful manner. To be sure, while these vital plans were forming in his
brain, he did not happen to recall any page of the logic that exactly
fitted the case, but in some way he flattered himself that he had become
rather expert in the art of thinking and of balancing ideas.

"A fellow can't do more than use his wits, afte