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Greycliff Heights was the name of the small town where Mr. Van Buskirk and Cathalina found themselves one bright day in the middle of September. At the station were a few taxicabs decorated with Greycliff banners. A short spin over a pretty, winding road brought them out to the school called Greycliff. There they entered a broad gateway and glided around a curved drive to Greycliff Hall, the girls’ dormitory.

A rolling, grassy campus; flowers and a fountain; a scattered group of handsome grey stone buildings, vine-covered; a green wood, whose trees and bushes gradually thinned toward the sandy beach which lay between the campus proper and where the lake danced and shimmered at a distance,—these were what the eye could gather for a first impression.

“Look, Papa!” said Cathalina, “see those lovely horses. Do you suppose they belong here?”

“Very likely.”

At some distance beyond the campus, a large pasture was fenced in and there grazed about a dozen pretty ponies and as many horses.