A rattling of the window panes and a sound of rising wind sent the Bishop to the window:
“Well, Miss Tross-Kingdon, one of your wishes is already coming true. There’s a blizzard coming—surely. Flakes are already falling and I’m glad the double sashes are in place on this north side the building, and that Michael has seen to having the toboggan slide put in order. I prophesy that within a few days all the young folks will be tobogganing at a glorious rate. That’s one of the things I’m thankful for—having been born in Canada where I could slide with the best!”
He turned about and the lady smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. He was a man who never felt old, despite his venerable white head, but as he moved again toward the fire and Dorothy entered the room a shadow crossed his face. He had sent for her because within his pocket lay a letter he knew she ought to have, yet greatly disliked to give her. All the mail matter coming to the Oak Knowe girls passed first through their instructors’ hands, though it was a rare occasion when such was not promptly delivered.
This letter the Bishop had read as usual, but it had not pleased him. It was signed by one James Barlow, evidently a very old friend of Dorothy’s, and was written with a boyish assumption of authority that was most objectionable, the Bishop thought. It stated that Mr. Seth Winters was very ill and that Mrs. Calvert was breaking down from grief and anxiety concerning him; and that, in the writer’s opinion, Dorothy’s duty lay at home and not in getting an education away up there in Canada. “Anybody who really wishes to learn can do that anywhere,” was the conclusion of this rather stilted epistle.
Now when his favorite came in, happy and eager to greet him, he suddenly decided that he would keep that letter to himself for a time, until he had written to some other of the girl’s friends and found out more about the matter.
“Did you send for me, dear Bishop?”
“Well, yes, little girl, I did. There was something I wanted to talk to you about, but I’ve changed my mind and decided to put it off for the present;” he answered with a kindly smile that was less bright than usual. So that the sensitive girl was alarmed and asked:
“Is it something that I’ve done but ought not?”
“Bless your bonny face, no, indeed. No, Miss Betty the second, I have no fault to find with you. Rather I am greatly delighted by all your reports. Just look out of window a minute—what do you see?”