"I won't stop, I think," I said. "I'll just leave this. It's a Christmas present for Dr. Maynard. Don't tell him who left it. There's a card inside." "I'll lay it right here on his desk," said Eliza, grinning with pleasure. She'd no sooner put my bundle down than I heard the clatter of horse's hoofs on the hard driveway outside. "I believe he's coming," I exclaimed. "How lucky! I'll wait." After Eliza had gone back to the kitchen and I was alone, I gazed about the room. It was a dark, dull room with bronze-coloured walls. Low, black walnut bookcases were built in around two sides, and over them hung two solitary pictures--steel engravings of battle scenes. There were several huge leather armchairs, and a bare leather couch in one corner. There wasn't a single sofa-pillow on it. I didn't believe Dr. Maynard liked sofa-pillows after all. Everything was so big and dark and stiff in that room, I was afraid a pillow would look out of place. I walked over to Dr. Maynard's desk. It was just like the room--nothing pretty on it--a book or two, a big bronze horse, a piece of black onyx for a paperweight. There was also a small, dark leather frame, and in it a kodak picture of Alec on horseback. The horse was poor dear little Dixie, who had gone away. I remembered when Dr. Maynard had taken that picture. It was in our back yard last summer. The smoke-bush had been in full plumage. Just before he snapped the picture, he had called to me, "You get into it, too, Bobbie. Stand up here, in front, by Dixie's head." And there I was, as sure as life, pinching the dear little horse's soft under lip, and smiling at Dr. Maynard. As I stood looking at the picture, wondering where Dixie had gone--for Alec hadn't told me and I dreaded to ask--Dr. Maynard passed by the window by my side. He was coming in from the stable by way of the front door, and Eliza would have no opportunity for telling him that he had a caller. As I heard him fitting his key into the lock of the outside door, it occurred to me that it would be fun to hide. I glanced around the room. There wasn't a drapery in sight. There wasn't a hanging of any description that I could crawl behind. So finally I dashed into what proved to be a closet--dark as pitch. Dr. Maynard didn't stop in the hall. He didn't call Eliza. He came directly toward the library door and entered the room. The sun was just setting, and a few last rays came slanting through the windows. They burnished the room like magic brass-polish. The bronze-coloured walls shone like dull copper; the brown leather armchairs, the black walnut woodwork, the old camel-shaded rugs were absolutely golden. As Dr. Maynard stood in the late sunshine in his khaki coloured riding things, his face all aglow and ruddy with the cold, he too glowed like everything else. He looked very handsome in his riding boots (I could see him through the crack in the door) and much sportier than in automobile goggles and a visored cap.