ire, the Yorkshire moors, the Cumberland lakes,
Scotland, the Black Forest, Switzerland, and they always took me to
see the world, and spend my summer holidays with them. How generous
and kind they were in their friendliness! Tom was usually of the
party--first as a child, then as a growing boy; but child or boy, such
a nice manly little fellow, so much thought of, yet not at all spoilt.
He was fond of reading, yet full of quiet fun, and in either light
never in anybody's way. He was so considerate of his mother and me,
and so helpful to us. The cows he has driven away! the horses going at
large he has kept off! the bulls he has held at bay! I confess I am
not brave in proportion to my size. I am very timid in such matters,
and, strange to say, Aunt Robinson, though a country-woman born and
bred, was as great a coward as I where farm animals were in question;
but we always knew ourselves safe when Tom was at hand, and he never
laughed at us more than we could stand."

"I can understand," said Dora faintly. "He once helped us--May and
me--when a strange dog attacked Tray; and now Tray is running about with
May full of life and health, while his champion is----" She could not
say the words.

Miss Franklin looked at her approvingly, even went so far as to stroke
one of the cold trembling hands lying nerveless in Dora's lap. "You will
allow me to say that you are a dear, tender-hearted girl, Miss Dora. You
could have appreciated my cousin Tom. What a tower of strength he was to
me when I felt I was getting middle-aged, and my system of teaching was
becoming old-fashioned. I had been in so many homes belonging to other
people, with never a home of my own, for upwards of thirty years, since
my poor father and mother both died before I was twenty. I do not say
that I was not for the most part well enough treated, because I hope I
did my best, and I believe I generally gave satisfaction. I had my happy
hours like other people. But it was all getting so stale, flat, and
unprofitable--I suppose because I was growing weary of it all, and
longing for a change. You see I had not quite come to the age when we
cease to want changes, and are resigned just to go on as we are to the
end. In reality I could see no end, except the poorest of poor lodgings
and the most pinching straits, with the very little money I had saved.
(My dear, even finishing governesses can save so little now-a-days.) Or
perhaps there was the chance of my being ta