He had on hand a stock of unexpended authority, by which the child,
in its early years, profited largely. She had been named, as a
matter of course, after her poor mother, and even in her most
diminutive babyhood the Doctor never called her anything but
Catherine. She grew up a very robust and healthy child, and her
father, as he looked at her, often said to himself that, such as she
was, he at least need have no fear of losing her. I say "such as she
was," because, to tell the truth--But this is a truth of which I will
defer the telling.



CHAPTER II



When the child was about ten years old, he invited his sister, Mrs.
Penniman, to come and stay with him. The Miss Slopers had been but
two in number, and both of them had married early in life. The
younger, Mrs. Almond by name, was the wife of a prosperous merchant,
and the mother of a blooming family. She bloomed herself, indeed,
and was a comely, comfortable, reasonable woman, and a favourite with
her clever brother, who, in the matter of women, even when they were
nearly related to him, was a man of distinct preferences. He
preferred Mrs. Almond to his sister Lavinia, who had married a poor
clergyman, of a sickly constitution and a flowery style of eloquence,
and then, at the age of thirty-three, had been left a widow, without
children, without fortune--with nothing but the memory of Mr.
Penniman's flowers of speech, a certain vague aroma of which hovered
about her own conversation. Nevertheless he had offered her a home