"When Keineth came to us she had to learn to be like other children. Yes, she had been shut up too much with that very good governess; her little brain had grown faster than her body. It's her body's turn now, the brain can wait. Mr. Randolph said that he wished her to remain with us until he returned. Keineth and I have a plan of our own for the fall, to play and work on our music." She smiled at Keineth. Aunt Josephine hesitated as though she could not find the right words to express what she felt. "I thought it was my duty to speak to Miss Edgecombe," she said stiffly; "she is my brother's child and will probably, some day, inherit what I have. I should like to have her with me, but," there was a wistful ring in her voice, "I suppose she is better off with you." "The things Miss Edgecombe can teach her can wait, perhaps," Aunt Nellie answered, smiling down at Keineth. "Keineth is happy in our simple life--" "Simple life--that's just it!" Aunt Josephine spoke rapidly, as though Mrs. Lee had suddenly helped her to find the words she wanted. "You're so simple that you're wonderful! You've learned to live real lives without all the shams that make slaves of the rest of us. Why, my life seems as empty as a bubble and the things I do worth just about as much as a bubble by the side of this." She swept her hand out toward the lamp-lighted room. "And I must have lived like this once--but I've forgotten! I've always thought my brother queer and that governess he had insufferable--but I guess you and he know what's best. I'm glad the child is with you. Yes," the wistful note crept back into her voice, "I would have enjoyed having her, but, she's better off, all freckled and in those absurd clothes." As Mrs. Winthrop drove away through the starlit night, a costly robe protecting her from the chill of the evening, Celeste at hand for instant service, Kingston guiding the monster car, she looked back over her shoulder at the little house outlined against the sky and sighed--a lonely little sigh. In a tumult of joy Keineth had thrown her arms about Mrs. Lee's neck. "Oh, I was so frightened!" she cried. "Thank you for not letting me go. I'd have just _hated_ Miss Edgecombe's--after this! And I do want to stay with Peggy!" she finished with a tight hug. Then, as they climbed the stairs together, she said softly--without knowing why in the least she said it: "Poor Aunt Josephine! It must be awful to be rich." CHAPTER XVII SCHOOL DAYS September had come, and busy days! For Overlook had to be closed, the city home cleaned and aired and made ready; Barbara must be sent away to college and the younger children started off in school. "I feel all sort of queer inside," said Peggy, astride of a trunk, "the way you do when you hear sad songs. I wish it was always summer and nothing but play." "And no school," chimed in Billy. He was on his knees packing toys. "I don't see what good school does, anyway! If nobody went to school it'd all be the same."