"You must be one of the new school-teachers or a professor in the college," she ventured, quite tingling with the bit of novelty new to her. "Yes? Well, I am going to run away now and leave you to your chaperoning. But you must not forget me, little morning-glory." "Why, my father called me that just before I left the house." "There you see, I am a wizard. I can read your inmost thoughts. I--" "I hope not," said Doris quickly. "Come and have an ice with me before I go." He led her through a quiet hallway to a corner of the wide porch, and brought ices for her, and cake. And all the time he kept up that boyish teasing chatter, and always she watched him with curiosity and interest. "You are too sensible to be inquisitive. You should say, Here is a brand from the burning, I must sow a good seed in his heart. And you should not even ask who, nor what, nor whither." "I know it, but I do. If you were just ordinary, I should not care. But I can't imagine! You haven't been here a long time, that is certain. Or I should have seen you before. And if I had, I should remember. You are not a college student, for you are too old--and too clever." "The last is an open insult, and the first is only dimly veiled. Now walk with me to the gate, Miss Morning-Glory." And at the gate he said, in a curious, half-sad voice, quite different from the gay bantering tone that had excited her curiosity, "You are a nice little thing," and went away. Doris looked after him in astonishment. "Well, can you beat that?" she ejaculated. "Here I go through high school, and through college, and now when I am a grown-up old woman, and the head of a house, and the General of a mob--I get myself all mixed up in a funny business like this. Who in the world can he be? And where in the world did he come from? But he said I should see him again. I wonder what that bad little Rosalie is at now?" And though she went immediately back to her sister, she did not forget the kind gray eyes and the kind gay voice. "Did you have a nice time, Doris?" asked Mrs. Andrieson as they were driving swiftly homeward. "Wonderful," said Doris in a voice of ecstatic content. Mrs. Andrieson looked at her curiously. "I am afraid I neglected you. I had such a hard time keeping the boys from quarreling over Rosalie, and I knew you would not get into mischief." Now that it was all over, and the excitement and the thrill were gone, Rosalie was quivering down to the very tips of her slippers. She had disgraced the manse, she had messed things up for father--and he was such a darling-- Oh, Doris should not have let her! People would think it was father's fault--she had not thought of that before, now she could think of nothing else. "He is a good man," people would say, "but he can not control his children." And he did work so hard, and was so patient--and so many times his eyes looked tired, and once in a while, but not often, he would admit that his head ached a bit.