and her paraphernalia
and impedimenta of various sorts--it was marvelous how she managed to
gather them all together with only two hands--and she was ready also.
But even in the midst of this sleight of hand performance, she did not
forget her self-constituted guardianship of Arethusa.

"Sure you're going to know your Pa?" she enquired. "Don't you want me
to be waiting and help you hunt for him?"

No, Arethusa was very, very sure she would know him. She did not need
any help to find him.

And then with one last shrieking grind of the wheels, the train stopped
in the shed at Lewisburg, and Arethusa, all injunctions to sit still
for a half hour forgotten as if they had never been, immediately began
with her fellow passengers a movement towards the door. But so slow was
this movement that her impatient heart thought she would never, never
be out of that car.

Helen Louise's quick eyes spied, through the car window, her father,
among the crowd on the platform and she gave a joyful shout. But it was
a shout, which although loud and very near, Arethusa never even heard.
Her own eyes, star-like and intent, were busy searching that same crowd
for her own father.

CHAPTER XI

Just as the music room was primarily Elinor's retreat, so was the
library the place which Ross loved best.

It was a long, narrow room; two square rooms had been thrown together
to make it, and it was lined, on the longest walls to about half the
distance from the ceiling, with low, deep, unglassed book-cases full of
books on a bewildering variety of subjects, haphazardly arranged; some
of them well worn as to bindings as if much read. A brick fireplace of
generous proportions with a high, narrow mantel shelf of brownish red
marble occupied most of one of the other, and narrower, walls. A log
fire burned there fitfully now, throwing little dancing gleams on the
brass andirons and the dark polished floor just in front. All the
chairs in the room were broad and deep and enticingly comfortable. An
enormous davenport stood at one side of the fireplace, and there was a
long, heavy table of carved mahogany directly in front of the hearth.
The few rugs in the room were all in dull, subdued tones that melted
into the floor unobtrusively.

Here, in the library, Ross spent his days in the arduous labor with
which he kept body and soul together; the translation of various bits
of the literature of Southern Europe into English. Ross was quite a
stude