below, Kit afterwards thought it was like a miniature section of the
Yosemite, the sand had hardened into such fantastic shapes, and the strata
in places was so plainly visible.

Mrs. Robbins' telegram arrived the night before Kit herself. It was brief
and non-committal.

"Kit arrives Union Station, Chicago, Thursday, 10:22 A.M."

"Kit," repeated the Dean. "Humph! Nickname. Superfluous and derogatory."

Miss Daphne took the telegram from his desk with a little smile that was
almost tremulous with excitement.

"It's probably the diminutive for Christopher, brother," she said. "I
think it's a nice name. I always liked the legend of St. Christopher.
Somebody'll have to meet him down in Chicago. He might lose his head and
take the wrong train."

"He's about fourteen, isn't he? Old enough to change from one train to
another, and use his tongue if he's in doubt. When I was fourteen, Daphne,
I was earning my own living working on a farm, summers, and going to a
school in the winter time where we all had to work for our board. Never
hurt us a bit. The greatest trait of character you can inculcate in a
child is self-reliance."

Miss Daphne had a little way of appearing to listen while her brother
expatiated on any of his favorite topics. It had grown to be a loving
habit with her, and she had a way of answering absently.