your friend going in for, Elsie, comedy or tragedy?"

Elsie didn't know. She explained that while Miss M-Marley seemed like
an old friend, she had only met her on the train as they had left
Chicago.

"Ah, that's just like your mother!" he exclaimed. "She was just that
way, quick to make friends, and yet as loyal and true as any slower and
more cautious person could be."

Again he sighed; then added in a lighter tone: "_She_ wanted to play
tragic parts--youth is apt to--but of course with those dimples she
would have been doomed to comedy, if not farce."

He gazed reminiscently at her.

"Your baby pictures had her dimples in small, but I see that as you
have grown thin you have lost them. You scarcely resemble her at all,
and yet already I see how very like her you are."

Elsie could think of no response, and fearing that he was awaking
painful feelings, Mr. Middleton changed the subject by inquiring kindly
after her stepmother. Elsie replied according to instructions that she
was quite well and much gratified to have secured her former position
in one of the San Francisco high schools for the coming year.

As he went on to ask about her journey and to exhibit points of
interest along the way, he was so chivalrous and thoughtful that the
girl realized that she would be considered and cared for as she never
would have been with Cousin Julia, and was genuinely relieved. Then
her thoughts flew back to those hours with Elsie Moss between Chicago
and Boston, which seemed to her the happiest she had ever known. It
came to her that if she could have the other girl's companionship,
could see her every day, she didn't know that she would greatly care
where she was. Perhaps she could even endure hardship. How serious
Elsie Moss had been about her motto, "Per aspera ad astra." For all
her gayety, she felt she could go through hardship bravely. Ah, she
was a rare person! For the first time in her life Elsie Marley was
homesick--and for a stranger!

Happily, there was that about Mr. Middleton which reminded her of his
niece. She glanced at him from under her long, pale lashes. A man of
fifty, he was tall and thin, with a fine florid face set off by a mass
of thick, white hair. His eyes were brown and youthful, full of
serenity and kindliness, with a shadow of the idealism that
characterized his whole face. His voice was good, his speech elegant,
appealing particularly to one accustomed to the tones and inflect