"What do I think of what, Emelie?" he queried, evasively.

"Why, of the way Phil is carrying on to-night! Did you ever see anybody so lost to all things mundane--save the presence of a certain very dainty little lady--as he is at this moment?"

"He does seem unusually frisky, I admit--especially with his feet," said the professor, with a smile.

"His feet! Will, just look at him! He doesn't know he has any feet; he is all eyes and--heart! You know what I mean, dear," his companion pursued. "I've seen you watching them with that quizzical look in your eyes. What would you think of it as a--a match?"

"Emelie! a matchmaker!--thou!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed her husband, in a tone of mock dismay, though his lips twitched with amus.e.m.e.nt.

She laughed out musically, a sound that he loved and heard frequently nowadays.

"But what would you think?" she persisted.

"I would think, sweetheart, that--with one exception I could name- -he had won a crown jewel and the sweetest wife in the world,"

replied the professor as he looked fondly down into the blue eyes uplifted to his.

Once Sadie, leaning on the arm of a dashing cadet in uniform, swept slowly by Katherine and her companion.

"How about that wager, honey?" she languidly inquired, her roguish eyes fastened upon the conspicuous rosebuds.

But Katherine's only reply was a defiant toss of her brown head as she smiled serenely back at her and whirled blissfully on.

Of course, it all had to come to an end, and morning found the weary, though still happy, revelers preparing, with much bustle and confusion, to disperse to their various homes; but that last delightful evening, with its music, and flowers, and charming a.s.sociations, remained a brilliant spot in memory's realm during many after years.

A week later found the Minturns and Seabrooks again located for the season at Manchester-by-the-sea.

Prof. Seabrook, to the great joy of his family, was to remain with them throughout the vacation. He would do no roaming this year, he said. He had something of far more importance to attend to, and unfolded a plan to his dear ones, which was received with the greatest enthusiasm; more of which anon.

It proved to be a summer long to be remembered by all, especially by Jennie, for various reasons; one of which was, she had never before seen the ocean, and it was a wonderful revelation to her, filling her with ever-increasing admiration and awe.

"One gets something of an idea of what eternity means," she said, with a long-drawn breath of rapture, when, one day, Katherine accompanied her to a high point which commanded a limitless expanse of sea that seemed to softly melt away into the sky and so become lost to human vision.

She could not content herself indoors much of the time, and almost won for. herself again the sobriquet of "Wild Jennie," for she would often disappear directly after breakfast, going off on long tramps to return hours later, laden with a promiscuous a.s.sortment of sh.e.l.ls, stones, star-fish and other curiosities with which she lavishly adorned her own room and various other portions of the house.

"Oh, it's only a 'spell,'" she retorted one day, when Katherine laughingly commented upon her conchological, geological, ichthyological "research." "It has got to have its 'run,' like some other beliefs that aren't so good; then I'll get over it, I suppose, settle down and behave like people who are already seasoned. If I could only be as successful in a genealogical way there'd be nothing left to wish for," she concluded with a wistful sigh.

"Are you still brooding over that, Jennie?" gravely inquired Katherine.

"Not exactly 'brooding,' dearie. I guess it's just a kind of hankering, though mortal mind does set up a howl, now and then, in spite of me, and says 'don't you wish you knew.'"

Katherine laughed softly at the characteristic phraseology, but bent a very tender look upon the girl.

"Well, you do know that you are G.o.d's child," she said, gently.

"Yes; and I know it now, in a way that I never did before I knew you; and I'm sure no other 'stray waif' ever had quite so much to be thankful for as I have."

They all loved the girl, and she was the life of the house, although she had toned down considerably during the last year; for she was always bright and cheery, keeping everybody in a ripple with her quaint sayings and contagious mirth.

At the same time she made herself helpful, in many ways, was ever thoughtful for others, and, withal, so affectionate that everyone was the happier for her presence in the house.

So the time drew on apace for the convening of Mrs. Minturn's "cla.s.s," the date of which had been set for the twentieth of July.

It was to be a full cla.s.s, this year, and a convenient room had been secured in the "Back Bay district," in Boston, many of her prospective students being desirous of spending their vacation in that city to enjoy the privileges and services of "The Mother Church."

Prof. Seabrook took rooms for himself and family near by--this was his "plan," that they all three have cla.s.s instruction together-- for such an arrangement would be more convenient for them than to try to go back and forth, each day, and also give them more time for study.

It was an earnest and intelligent company that gathered in the appointed place on Monday, July twentieth, all eager to be fed with the Bread of Life. There were two clergymen, one physician, two lawyers, several teachers, business men and women, and others from humbler walks of life. Miss Reynolds had come on to "review"; Jennie and Sadie were also among the number.

Intense interest and the closest attention were manifested throughout the course, and Mrs. Minturn afterwards remarked that the cla.s.s, as a whole, was one of the brightest and most receptive that she had ever taught.

The sixth lesson was a particularly impressive one, during which every occupant of that sacred room became so conscious of the power and presence of Truth and Love, that the place almost seemed to them a "mount of transfiguration," as it were, where the Christ was revealed to them as never before.

When the cla.s.s was dismissed for the day, Mrs. Minturn asked Prof.

Seabrook if he would kindly remain to a.s.sist her with some papers she had to make out; and Mrs. Seabrook and Dorothy, their "hearts still burning within them," stole quietly away to their rooms to talk over by themselves the beautiful things they had learned that morning.

They pa.s.sed out upon the street and had walked nearly half the distance to their boarding place, when Mrs. Seabrook stopped short and turned a startled face to her child.

"Dorothy, your crutches!" was all she could say.

The girl lifted a wondering look to her.

"Mamma!" she said, in a voice of awe, "I forgot all about them!"

"Shall we--shall I go back for them?" mechanically inquired her mother.

"Go back for my crutches? Mamma! why, mamma! don't you see that I am free?--that I can walk as well as you?" she exclaimed, with a catch in her breath that was very like a sob. "You've just got to know it, for me and with me," she continued authoritatively, as she started on, "for I will never use them again. I have 'clung to the truth'--we've all clung--and 'Truth has made me free'! Oh!"-- in an indescribable tone--"'who is so great a G.o.d as our G.o.d?' Let us g-get home quick, or--I shall have to c-cry right here in--the street."

"Mamma, I think I know, now, just when all the fear left me,"

Dorothy said later, when, after reaching their rooms, each had for a few moments sought the "secret place" to offer her hymn of praise for this new gift of Love. "You know how beautifully Mrs.

Minturn talked about man's 'G.o.d-given dominion,' this morning; did you ever hear anyone say such lovely things? She seemed to take you almost into heaven, and I felt so happy--so light and free, I wanted to fly. I forgot all about my body, and I walked out of that room without realizing what I was doing; I hadn't really got back to mortal sense and things material, when you stopped and spoke of my crutches. I haven't said anything about it, for it seemed too good to be true, but for nearly two weeks I've had such a longing to walk alone, and, at times, it has almost seemed as if I could, but didn't quite dare to try. And, mamma"--Dorothy lowered her voice reverently--"have you noticed, when helping me to dress lately, that--that one of the curves is nearly gone from my back?"

"Yes, dear, but I 'have not dared' to call your attention to it-- that is what has made you seem so much taller, though we have called it 'growing,'" her mother returned.

"Don't you think we have been very, very faithless, mamma, dear, not to 'dare' speak of our blessings and thank G.o.d for them?" said the girl, tremulously.

"Dorrie, you shame me, every day, by your implicit faith!"

faltered the woman, tears raining over her face.

"No--no; not 'implicit,' mamma, for that would make the other curve straight this very minute. But I know it is going to he, sometime, for G.o.d made the real me upright and nothing can deprive me of my birthright."

Half an hour later Prof. Seabrook came in, looking a trifle pale and anxious.

Dorothy arose and went forward, with radiant face, to meet him. He could not speak, but opened his arms to her and held her close for a minute, his trembling lips pressed against the fair head lying on his breast.

Presently she gently released herself, remarking:

"Papa, do you know, when you came in, you looked as if you expected to find what we have all wished for so long."