somewhat curt response.

Then, after an irresolute pause, she walked over to Katharine, and picking up the book she had just laid down, asked:

"What is this that you were reading? Oh! it is that dreadful book
I've heard so much about."

"It doesn't seem dreadful to me," returned her companion, gently.

"Humph! 'At all times and under all circumstances overcome evil with good,'" [Footnote: "Science and Health," page 571.] she read from the page to which she had opened. "That's just another version of the 'golden rule,' isn't it?" Then, turning a leaf, she read from the next page: "'Love fulfills the law in Christian Science.' Humph!" she ejaculated again, as she put the volume down, "so you are a Christian Scientist! I heard about it downstairs."

"Yes," quietly returned Katherine.

"And do you really believe all they tell about the wonderful cures and—and the rest of it?" Sadie demanded, with curling lips.

"Yes."

"Tell me about some of them," said the girl, eagerly, her curiosity aroused.

"Excuse me, Miss Minot; I cannot, for Prof. Seabrook has forbidden me to say anything about the subject here," Katherine returned.

"Yes, I heard that, too," said Sadie, with a nod. "Well, the professor is dead set against it, and I'm down on it right smart myself. You see"—with a superior air—"I'm an Episcopalian; my grandfather was an Episcopalian clergyman, a rector, you know, and"—with a shrug and laugh—"I'm afraid he wouldn't rest easy in his grave if he knew I had such a rank heretic for a roommate. But"—leaning forward and smiling into her companion's eyes— "aside from that I like you right well, Miss Minturn, and if we leave this subject alone I reckon we'll get along pretty comfortably together; what do you say?"

"I am sure we will," cordially assented Katherine, "and"—with a merry twinkle in her eyes—"if you do not broach it, you may confidently rely upon my discretion."

"I own up," good-naturedly returned her chum. "I did broach it this time; but"—flushing slightly—"something had to be said to get it out of the way, don't you know? And may I—would you like me to call you Katherine?"

"With all my heart, Sadie."

The two girls smiled into each other's eyes; the last vestige of formality was swept away, and the atmosphere was clear.

CHAPTER III.

DOROTHY.

The midwinter term at Hilton Seminary had opened on Wednesday, and the remainder of the week passed quickly and uneventfully as Katherine fell easily into the ways of the institution and found herself getting well started in her various studies.

Her relations with her roommate were most harmonious, but the majority of the students either ignored her altogether or treated her with a coldness that, had she not had her "Science" to sustain and comfort her, would have made her lot hard indeed to bear.

She had not met the professor again, except in the class room, where he had seemed to be wholly absorbed in his duties as instructor and oblivious of the personality of the students.

On Saturday afternoon she was introduced to Mrs. Seabrook while strolling in the grounds with Miss Reynolds, between whom and herself a growing friendliness was asserting itself. The professor's wife was walking beside a wheel-chair, which was being propelled by a nurse in cap and apron, and in which was seated— propped up by pillows—a young girl who appeared to be about seven or eight years of age, although her serious, pain-lined face and thoughtful eyes seemed, by right, to belong to an older person.

Miss Reynolds paused on meeting this trio and introduced Katherine to Mrs. Seabrook, who greeted her with a sweet cordiality that at once won the girl's heart.

"I heard that we had a new student among us," she said, as she warmly clasped Katherine's hand, "and I hope you are going to be very happy with us, Miss Minturn."

"Thank you; not 'going to be'—I already am happy here," she cheerily and truthfully replied, for she had become deeply interested in her work, and, as she dearly loved to study, she was content to leave her social relations to be governed by the love she was "trying to live."

"This is my daughter," Mrs. Seabrook continued, as she turned a fond look upon the pale, pinched face among the pillows. "Dorothy, this is the young lady whom you have been wishing to see."

Katherine bent down, took the small mittened hand that was extended to her and smiled into the grave, searching eyes that were earnestly studying her face.

"And I also have been wishing to see Dorothy," she said, with a note of tenderness in her tone that caused the slender fingers inside the mitten to close more firmly over her own. "I am very fond of little people."

"I should not be so 'little' if I were well," Dorothy returned, with a faint sigh. Then, glancing up at her attendant, she added: "This is my nurse, Alice, and she has to wheel me about because I cannot walk."

Katherine bestowed a friendly look and nod upon Alice; then a great wave of compassion for the little cripple swept over her heart and softened her earnest brown eyes as she turned back to her and remarked, in a cheery tone:

"You have a lovely chair. These rubber tires must cause it to roll very smoothly and make it easy for Alice to wheel you about."

"Yes, I like my chair very much—my Uncle Phillip brought it to me from Germany—and Alice is very nice about taking me everywhere I want to go; but it would be so much nicer if I could walk and run about like other girls," and Dorothy's yearning tone smote painfully upon every listening ear.

"It certainly would, dear," Katherine returned, giving the small hand that still clung to hers a loving pressure, adding, softly: "And sometime you will, I hope."

The child's face glowed at the term of endearment; but her pale lips quivered slightly at the hopeful assurance.

"Oh! no," she said, shaking her head slowly; "I have a double curvature of the spine, and all the doctors say I never can. I—I- -think I could bear that—not being able to walk—but the dreadful pain sometimes makes me wish I wasn't here at all."

Katherine did not make any reply to this pathetic information. For a moment or two she seemed to be oblivious to everything, even to the presence of her companions, and stood looking off towards the western sky, as if communing with some unseen presence there.

Then, suddenly arousing herself, she detached a beautiful pink rosebud from the lapel of her jacket, saying, brightly: "Do you love flowers, Dorothy? will you let me fasten this on your coat? It is fresh from the greenhouse and will last some time yet. There—see!" as she deftly pinned it in place. "What a pretty contrast it makes against the dark-blue cloth."

"It is lovely," said the girl, bending forward to inhale its perfume. "How perfect it is! Do you ever wonder, Miss Minturn, why God makes the flowers and things that grow so perfect and beautiful, and people—so many of them—imperfect and ugly?"

"My dear," Mrs. Seabrook here smilingly interposed, though a quickly repressed sigh arose to her lips, "I hope you are not going to involve Miss Minturn in a metaphysical discussion during this first meeting! Dorothy has acquired a habit of philosophizing and asking profound questions that are not always easily answered," she explained to Katherine.

"Surely, dear, you do not think that God ever made