"Cathy, what makes you so quiet with Mr. Logan now?" Queenie asked her one afternoon when they were sitting together. Emmie was spending the evening with the Fawcetts. Captain Fawcett had called for her, and the two had gone off as usual hand in hand, the Captain glancing over his stiff stock at his little companion. Mr. Logan had looked in on them on his way to the school, and had brought them a message from Miss Cosie. "Charlotte wants you both to come over to tea with her; she has a present of fine fruit from the Abbey farm, and she wants our friends to enjoy it with her. Miss Faith is coming, and so is Langley, and Garth has promised to look in by-and-bye." Queenie assented cheerfully; she had a warm liking for Mr. Logan, and a great affection for Miss Cosie, and nothing pleased her better than an evening spent in their company. It struck her that Cathy acquiesced rather unwillingly in the arrangement; she made one or two excuses rather ungraciously, but Mr. Logan would take no denial. "Never mind all that; Charlotte and I will quite expect you, Miss Catherine," was his tranquil answer. Cathy flushed in a displeased manner, but she offered no more objections. A cloud settled on her brow now as Queenie spoke. "You and he used to be such friends," she continued. "Don't you remember our talks in the garret? You used to call him your Mentor, and write such long letters to him sometimes; a word from him always seemed to influence you, and now it seems to me as though you tried to avoid him." Cathy bit her lip and remained silent. "Dear Cathy, it is so strange, so unlike you to quarrel with your best friend. The more I see Mr. Logan, the more I honor and revere him, Such intellect, and yet the simplicity and guilelessness of a child. I believe he lives only to do good; he reminds one of those olden saints of whom one reads." Cathy's dark eyes flashed, and then grew humid with repressed feeling. "Ah, that is just it; one cannot breathe in such a rarefied atmosphere." "Do you mean that you find his goodness so oppressive? I am not like you then; a really good man rests me somehow. I feel in looking at one as if I were in the presence of God's highest work, as though even He could do nothing better--the best and finished work before the seventh day's rest, when 'God saw that it was good.' Think of that, Cathy. I suppose," continued Queenie, reverently, "He saw the one Divine likeness stamped on the face of humanity, the one Man shining through the ages of men. Oh, there is nothing grander in all creation than a really good man." "Don't, Queenie; I am not in a mood for your great thoughts to-night; you must come down and meet me on my own level. You don't know how inconceivably little and mean and insignificant he makes me feel. I begin," enunciating her words with an effort, "to feel afraid of myself and him."