e. It was a stately and beautiful room and each article of furniture
had been made to fit into the space and the need by an artist.

Doris's father was not indifferent to his father's tastes, but he was a
student at heart and had a vision as to libraries. He encroached upon
the ample space back of the house and had built an oval room through
whose leaded panes the peach and plum trees could be seen like traceries
on the clear glass. Around the walls of this room the book shelves
ranged at just the right height, and above them hung pictures that
inspired but did not obtrude. The high, carved chimney with its deep,
generous hearth was a benediction.

When Doris had come home from St. Mary's she made known a family
trait--she voiced what to her seemed an inspiration but which to the
father, at first, seemed madness. Still, he complied and spent many
happy hours before his death in what he called "Doris's Daring."

"I want the west wall of the library knocked out, Father," she had said,
but Mr. Fletcher only stared.

"We can have the books and pictures in my room--my sunken room. There is
enough garden to spare and we can save the roses. We'll drop down from
the library by a shallow flight of steps; we'll have a little fountain
and about a mile of nice low window seats rambling around the room. I
don't want nymphs in the fountain but dear, adorable children tossing
water at each other.

"We must have birds in cages, and plants and pictures--it must be a room
where we can all take what is dearest to us--and live."

Of course it was an expensive and daring conception, but it was carried
out by an inspired young architect, and it was Meredith who had posed
for the figures in the fountain.

When Doris returned to New York with her children this room became the
soul of the house.

The year after Doris's adoption of the children Sister Angela died
suddenly. "She simply fell asleep," Sister Constance wrote.

After that the other Sisters could not feel happy and content in the
atmosphere of antagonism that Sister Angela had partially overcome, but
with which they had no sympathy. They returned to the Middle West and
entered a Sisterhood where their duties and environment were more
congenial. Ridge House reverted to the Fletcher estate and Uncle Jed was
put in charge.

"I may use it later," Doris explained, "or I may turn it over to Father
Noble if he ever needs it."

What this all meant to Mary no one ever knew--she sa