y two miles and a half. Simpson watched on the
speedometer the last time we drove out."

Graham looked questioningly at Jerry and Jerry, suddenly recalling the
miles of mountain trail over which she had climbed, laughed back her
answer.

Because a new world, that surpassed any fairy tale, had opened to Jerry
in these last few days, it seemed only fitting to go to school in a
building that was like a palace. She thrilled at the thought of the new
school life, the girls and boys who would be her classmates, the new
teachers, the new studies. For years and years, back at the Notch she
had always sat in front of Rose Smith and back of Jimmy Chubb; she had
progressed from fractions to measurements and then on to algebra and
from spelling to Latin with the outline of Jimmy's winglike ears so
fixed a part of her vision that she wondered if now she might not find
that she could not study without them. And there had always been, as far
back as she could remember, only little Miss Masten to teach
multiplication and geography and algebra alike; she and the other
children who made up the "advanced grade" of the school at Miller's
Notch always called her "Miss Sarah." Would there be anyone like Miss
Sarah at Lincoln?

As they walked along, Gyp bravely measuring her step to Jerry's freer
stride, Gyp explained to Jerry "all about" Uncle Peter.

"He's father's uncle. Father's father--that's my grandfather--was his
youngest brother. He died when he was just a young man and Uncle Peter
never got over it. Mother says my grandfather was the only person Uncle
Peter ever really liked. He always lived in the same funny little old
house even after he made lots of money, until he built Highacres. He was
terribly queer. I used to be dreadfully afraid of him because he always
carried a big cane and had the awfullest way of looking at you! His eyes
sort of bored holes right through you, so that you turned cold all over
and couldn't even cry. I'm glad he's dead. He was awfully old,
anyway--or at least he looked old. We used to just hate to have to go to
see him. The old stingy wouldn't ever even give us a stick of candy."

"The poor old man," Jerry said so feelingly that Gyp stared at her. "My
mother always said that such people are so unhappy that they punish
themselves. Maybe he really wanted to be nice and just didn't know how!
Anyway, he's given his home to the school."

If Peter Westley, looking down from another world, was reading that