At the entrance to the driveway leading to the residence occupied by the President of the Theological Seminary were two flat-topped stone pillars, and upon one of these on a certain bright September day, Trolley sat sunning himself.

His handsome coat, shading from a delicate fawn color to darkest brown, glistened like satin; his paws were tucked comfortably away beneath him, his long tail hung down behind, and his golden eyes were almost closed; only the occasional movement of his small aristocratic ears showed him to be awake.

When Caro came dancing down from the house he turned his head for a moment and watched her sleepily till she was safely on top of the other pillar, where she seated herself Turk-fashion,[2] her blue ruffles spread out carefully, for Aunt Charlotte had cautioned her not to rumple them. Caro had also been told not to go out without her hat, so it dangled by its elastic from her arm, while the sun shone down without hindrance upon the fair little face with its smiling blue eyes, and its crown of short brown curls.

“Trolley,” she announced presently, “here comes the Professor of something that begins with ‘Ex,’—I never can remember, it is such a funny word. It sounds like the book in the Bible where the Commandments are.”

Dr. Wells, the dignified Professor of New Testament Exegesis unbent a little at sight of the novel ornaments on the president’s gateposts. “Why Miss Caro, you must have wings!” he said, smiling up at her.

“Why no, I haven’t; and neither has Trolley. He just jumps, but I have to climb. You see that ledge there?—and this place—?”

“Yes, my dear, that will do. Aren’t you afraid you will fall?” the professor exclaimed uneasily, as Caro leaned over to point out her way of ascent. “I really think you had better get down.”

[3]“But it is very nice up here; you can see so much,” the little girl assured him serenely, and Dr. Wells went his way wondering if he ought not to go up to the house and tell someone of her dangerous position.

“I am not a bit afraid I’ll fall. There’s not the least danger; is there Trolley?” Caro continued.

Trolley opened his eyes, yawned scornfully and closed them again.

“There is one thing I am afraid of—at least I don’t like it, and that is the dark. I s’pose you don’t mind it ’cause you can see—I shouldn’t either if I could see in the dark. Aunt Charlotte says I mustn’t have a light to go to sleep by, and I love a light,—I just love it!” Caro’s eyes had grown sorrowful and her voice had in it the sound of tears.

On the porch of the house back among the trees Aunt Charlotte had waylaid the president. “I don’t know what to do with Caro, Charles. She isn’t exactly naughty,—and yet you couldn’t say she was good either—”

“You surprise me,” he replied, as his sister hesitated. “She impresses me as a decided character for one so young.”

[4]“Decided! I should say so! You know—” Aunt Charlotte continued, “Elinor put her in my charge to be dealt with as seemed to me best, and I did think after bringing up your five that I knew something about it, but my hand has lost its cunning. You know I have never allowed a child a light to go to sleep by, but Caro insists upon having one, and lies awake and cries without it. What am I to do? Let her cry?”

“Oh no, I shouldn’t do that!” answered her brother hastily, gazing into his hat as if he hoped to find there some solution of the problem. “Suppose you let me consider the matter,” he added, as the striking of the hall clock reminded him of his engagement; “I’ll talk to her.”

“Much good it will do,” said Aunt Charlotte.

With a book under his arm Dr. Barrows started out, so absorbed in thought of his small granddaughter that he passed through the gate without seeing her till she called, “Goodby grandpa!”

“Why Caro! Aren’t you afraid you will fall?”

[5]Caro shook her curls vigorously, and then leaning forward she said plaintively, “Grandpa—please don’t let Aunt Charlotte make me sleep in the dark.”

“I fear you are a foolish little girl,” replied the president meaning to look stern, but succeeding only in smiling fondly at the witch on the pillar, who appropriated the smile and ignored the words.

“You know God made the darkness, Caro,” he continued, conscious that the remark was not quite original.

“Yes—” unwillingly—then “but grandpa, He put stars in His dark!”

As Dr. Barrows walked down the street he reflected that he should have but a divided mind to give to seminary matters, if the present state of affairs continued, and the seminary needed his close attention just now.

It was two weeks since his granddaughter had arrived to spend several months in his home while her father and mother were traveling. “I am afraid we have spoiled her a little,” his daughter Elinor wrote, “and hard as it is for me to give her up I feel sure it will be good for her to be in Aunt Charlotte’s hands[6] for a time. I know you will love her and forgive her little failings, as you always did those of—

“Your devoted daughter.”

Love her! he was fairly bewitched by her. He had thought a child in the house after so many years of quiet might be annoying, but on the contrary he would have liked to have her always with him.

Aunt Charlotte was ready and anxious to do anything and everything for her dear Elinor’s child, but somehow her theories which had worked so well with her brother’s children did not seem to fit the next generation.

The truth was that in her southern home Caro had been under a very different rule. Mammy ’Riah who had nursed her father before her, had, to use her own words “Taught her pretty manners,” and petted and scolded and worshipped her. The result puzzled Aunt Charlotte and delighted her brother.

“I can’t explain it,” he said, “but the child has that something,—her grandmother had it—” and here the president fell to musing over[7] those far-away days when he had fallen in love with a pretty southern girl.

“Please don’t let her make me sleep in the dark:”—Caro’s grandfather felt positively chivalrous in his determination to protect her—from what? His own dear sister in whose wisdom and devotion he had rested all these years!