Pretty little Cathalina was buried deep in a big velvet chair in one of the parlors, looking out at the first snow which was swirling down and bid fair to cover everything before morning. The heavy clouds had threatened snow before dinner when she and Hilary had taken a long walk, down to the beach, up through the grove and to the hill beyond. It was quite dark now, but the porch light shone out to where the masses of shrubbery were growing heavy with their soft burden and dark pine trees were being outlined in white. Cathalina’s chair had happened to be turned with its back toward the room, though it was on one side of the long French window. It was nearly time for the evening study bell and the groups of girls that had been chatting in the parlors or gathered about the piano had disappeared. Cathalina felt that she must rouse herself from her rather drowsy comfort and get upstairs to work on her lessons, when from behind her came a quiet footstep and a young girl in a clinging black dress slipped by the chair and stood in the window. Just then Alma came in and lowered the lights, turning off entirely the electric ones. Cathalina was rather timid about meeting new people, but very courteous when she had to do so; and now, when she saw that this was the new girl who had only been at Greycliff a few days, she rose from the chair with a pleasant, “Good evening.” The girl started a little and Cathalina went on, “O, excuse me, didn’t you see that anybody was there?” “No,” replied the recent arrival, without the courtesy of a smile. She held herself proudly and with her chin raised let her eyes drop from Cathalina’s face to her feet with a comprehensive glance. “I’m sorry if I startled you. My name is Cathalina Van Buskirk. I noticed that you just came a few days ago. I should be glad to be acquainted and if you are the least bit lonely there are some real nice girls here who would love to do anything for you.” “They couldn’t do _me_ any good,” and the tears came to the new girl’s eyes, though her expression did not soften! “My father has just been—has just died and Mother made me come here!” There was a pause, while Cathalina wondered what to say. “Did you say your name is Van Buskirk?—from Holland?” A little interest showed in the girl’s face. “O, no; not from Holland, except long ago when one of my ancestors came over and fought in the Revolution. I’m from New York. I don’t think I know your name.” Another brief pause. “I’m awfully sorry about your father. But maybe you’ll feel happier when you get started in your work and get around with the girls. I was sure that I never could stand it to leave home, but I just love it here now,” Cathalina’s tender heart was sorry and troubled for this young stranger with her aching heart; though she was somewhat chilled by the girl’s attitude.