It was three months now since Mr. Peter Starr had died. His wife had been dead for some years, and the children might be said to have brought themselves up. There had been no one to go there to take charge when their mother died, and though there had been an occasional governess, she had been granted but little authority, and affairs went more smoothly when there was no one. The girls adored their father, and his slightest word was law when he chose to speak it; but as a rule he refrained from directing his family in the smaller matters of life. He was an indolent, dreamy man, who since his wife’s death had spent the greater part of his time among his books. Mrs. Wentworth Ward had frequently remonstrated with him upon the laxity of his management of his children, but he had acquired the habit of thinking that Sophia was unduly particular, and therefore he paid but little attention to her criticisms. Honor kept house very well, he always said, and the children never gave him any trouble. He liked them to be natural. It was in August that Mr. Starr died, so suddenly that it was many weeks before his family could realize the fact that the gentle, kindly presence was no longer among them. They missed their father sadly, and Honor sometimes felt overburdened with a sense of the responsibility which was now hers. To be sure, she had kept house for years, and had practically brought up the younger children; but there had always been her father to turn to in matters of importance, there had always been his smile to encourage her, his few words of appreciation to cheer her when the children had been troublesome, or household affairs had gone wrong. Mr. Dickinson Abbott, an old friend of Mr. Starr’s, had, according to his will, been appointed guardian of the family and trustee of the estate. There had always been plenty of money, and Honor had supposed that there always would be. She could not imagine what her Aunt Sophia had meant by her remarks that morning. Katherine had finished school, but intended to devote herself to her music this winter, going to Boston several times a week for the purpose, and practising with great regularity and industry. Katherine, though inclined to be flighty and unmanageable at times, was wholly devoted to music. Victoria, Sophy, and Peter went to private schools in Fordham, upon the outskirts of which suburban town Glen Arden was situated. Glen Arden itself was a beautiful old place on the banks of the Charles River. A pine grove hid the view of the river from the house, but the gentle, winding stream was there within a stone’s throw of the barn, and at the foot of the steep bank with which the grove terminated. A small branch railroad crossed the river at the Starrs’ place, and a tiny station was situated near the entrance to their grounds. The main station was half a mile away in “the village,” as the Starrs continued to designate it, although it had long ago been incorporated into the city of Fordham.