s venerable white head, but as he
moved again toward the fire and Dorothy entered the room a shadow
crossed his face. He had sent for her because within his pocket lay a
letter he knew she ought to have, yet greatly disliked to give her.
All the mail matter coming to the Oak Knowe girls passed first
through their instructors' hands, though it was a rare occasion when
such was not promptly delivered.

This letter the Bishop had read as usual, but it had not pleased him.
It was signed by one James Barlow, evidently a very old friend of
Dorothy's, and was written with a boyish assumption of authority that
was most objectionable, the Bishop thought. It stated that Mr. Seth
Winters was very ill and that Mrs. Calvert was breaking down from
grief and anxiety concerning him; and that, in the writer's opinion,
Dorothy's duty lay at home and not in getting an education away up
there in Canada. "Anybody who really wishes to learn can do that
anywhere," was the conclusion of this rather stilted epistle.

Now when his favorite came in, happy and eager to greet him, he
suddenly decided that he would keep that letter to himself for a time,
until he had written to some other of the girl's friends and found out
more about the matter.

"Did you send for me, dear Bishop?"

"Well, yes, little girl, I did. There was something I wanted to talk
to you about, but I've changed my mind and decided to put it off for
the present;" he answered with a kindly smile that was less bright
than usual. So that the sensitive girl was alarmed and asked:

"Is it something that I've done but ought not?"

"Bless your bonny face, no, indeed. No, Miss Betty the second, I have
no fault to find with you. Rather I am greatly delighted by all your
reports. Just look out of window a minute--what do you see?"

Dorothy still wondered why she had been summoned, but looked out as
she had been bidden.

"Why, it's snowing! My, how fast, and how all of a sudden! When we
were out for exercise the sun was shining bright."

"The sun is always shining, dear child, even though clouds of trouble
often obscure it. Always remember that, little Dorothy, no matter what
happens."

Then he dropped what the schoolgirls called his "preachy manner" and
asked:

"How do you like tobogganing?"

"Why--why, of course I don't know. I've never even seen a toboggan,
except in pictures. They looked lovely."

"Lovely? I should say, but the real thing far lovelier. Miss
Tross-Kingd