300 THE GARDEN OF A 



" I have a very special favour to ask of you, 

 daughter," father began, his solemnity striking me 

 with dismay. 



"With pleasure," I answered; "that is," as an 

 idea struck me, " unless it is to go somewhere away 

 from home and stay all night." 



" No, it is to invite a guest here for a whole 

 week." 



" Not Aunt Lot and the Reverend Jabez ! " I 

 cried, jumping up so that " Christian " fell sprawl- 

 ing on the floor to the bending of a morocco corner. 



" Dora Penfield," he said, much to my relief, then 

 paused to give me time to recollect when I had last 

 heard of her. 



Dora Penfield ! Ah, yes, I recollect. She was 

 the orphan daughter of an old school friend of 

 mother's, who used to live with a distant relative, 

 in a stately colonial house on the farther edge of 

 town. One of those fine old places, with good china 

 and mahogany within doors, and box-edged walks 

 and a well-preserved garden without, that had much 

 impressed my girlish fancy. In those days, though 

 several years under thirty, she had been quite a 

 personage, a lady bountiful, and every one had 

 been surprised when, without apparent reason, she 

 had suddenly closed the house, all but a few rooms 



