hen she is
older."

The color flew to Dorothy's cheeks and she flashed him a grateful
smile, for the kind words that so soothed her homesick heart.

The other gentleman in the room did not rise, but held out a
beckoning hand and, with another curtsey to Doctor Winston, Dorothy
excused herself to him and obeyed the summons. This other was a
venerable man with a queer-shaped cap upon his white head and wearing
knee breeches and gaiters, which made the young American remember some
pictures of old Continental statesmen.

"So this is my old friend Betty Calvert's child, is it? Well, well!
You're as like her as possible--yet only her great-niece. Ha, hum!
Little lady, you carry me straight back to the days of my boyhood,
when my parents came from England--strangers to your Baltimore. But we
were not strangers for long. There's a distant blood relation between
our house and yours and we youngsters found in beautiful Bellevieu a
second home. So you must remember that, since your aunt has done me
the honor to send you away up here to this school of mine--of ours, I
should say--you have come to another home just as I did then. Dear
little Betty! What a mischief she was! Are you mischievous, too, I
wonder?"

Then he turned to the Lady Principal, warning her:

"Look out for this little miss, Miss Tross-Kingdon! She looks as meek
as a lamb, just now, but blood will tell and she'll bear watching, I
believe."

The dear old man had drawn Dorothy close to his side and was smiling
upon her in a manner to win the heart of any girl and to cure her of
her homesickness--at least for the time being. When he released her,
he rose to depart, resuming for a moment the business talk with the
Lady Principal, which Dorothy's entrance had interrupted. Both she and
the doctor also arose and stood respectfully waiting till the Bishop
disappeared. Then said Dr. Winston:

"You'll like to hear about your boy patient, I suppose, Miss Calvert.
Well, I think he's all right, or will be as soon as his bones
and bruises mend. What I suspect is that the brave lad is about
half-starved--or was. He's in danger of being overfed now, since he
has fallen into Dame Gilpin's hands."

"Half-starved, sir? How dreadful!" cried Dorothy, while Miss
Tross-Kingdon exclaimed: "Can that be possible!"

"Quite possible, indeed. His mother is a widow and very frail, old
John tells me. Her husband was a carpenter who worked in town and was
trying to pay for the little