this. You have the true spirit of a naturalist who accepts such
happenings as a matter of experience. Are you fearful or timid? Do you
get frightened easily?"

"I am not afraid of creeping things," answered Beatrice thoughtfully. "I
don't believe that I know about other things. There has never been much
to try me. At least, there never was anything until I saw those burglars
the other night. I was scared then."

"You saw those men?" ejaculated Doctor Raymond. "Where did you see
them?"

"I forgot that you did not know, father."

"But I wish to know. Tell me all about it, Beatrice."

"It was the first night that I wore that horrid poultice for my
complexion. I could not sleep, so I went down stairs to get a book from
the library, and when I opened the door there were the two burglars
putting the silver into a bag. I was so scared that I could not do
anything but look at them. When they saw me they took me for a ghost and
ran away. I did look scary, father; so, when I heard you coming, I hid
under the couch because I did not want you to see me. When Aunt Fanny
was left alone I came out and ran up to my room. Yes; I was frightened.
I shook like a leaf after it was all over, and I was glad that you were
going to be near me."

"I see, my daughter. There was reason for fear in that instance. Few
girls would have done so well. I have not spoken of the matter before
because I did not wish to alarm you, and I did not know that you knew of
their visit. However, they will hardly bother us again as the
authorities are keeping a sharp watch for them, and believe that they
will soon have them in custody. I shall take that room next yours for
mine permanently, I think. Perhaps you will feel a little safer to have
me there, and there is no one on that side of the hall with you. Is it
somewhat too remote for you? Come, child! It is time to get back and get
some soda on that sting."

Chapter IX

With the Butterflies

"These be the pretty genis of the flowers,
Daintily fed with honey and pure dew."

--_Hood._

The windows of the study were thrown wide to the breeze which came cool
and fresh from the shrubberies laden with the odors of the garden. It
was a cozy, old-fashioned room, plainly furnished, but with that most
welcome adornment to lovers of letters--a multitude of books. A large,
open fireplace, surmounted by a high mantel-piece, took up nearly the
whole of one side of the room; before this was a