ward
Charlotte for not disputing her decision with her. "I'm glad you are
going."

"Well, sit down and talk to me while I'm dressing. Alma's gone, hasn't
she?"

"Yes. Oh, wear your brown hat, Charlotte--the one with the little
feather on it."

"My dear, what does it matter--Drinkwater won't appreciate it."

"Doesn't matter. You'll be a thing of beauty whether she knows it or
not, and that's reason enough for wearing it."

"Want me to bring out a pound of those scrumptious soft chocolates from
Mailliards? Then we can have a regular festival on 'em to-night, if
you're a good girl while I'm gone."

When Charlotte had taken her departure, Nancy, who had walked over to
the station with her, struck out through the village for a good walk
before luncheon. The country beyond Broadmore was picturesque, and
Nancy loved nothing better than to swing along without plan or purpose,
cutting across a field here, or turning into a bit of glowing woodland
there, as her fancy prompted. In her short full skirt, her small feet
laced into sturdy low-heeled boots, she could negotiate fences and
brooks with the freedom of a boy, revelling in a feeling of
adventurousness and liberty. The sun had melted the frost of the early
morning, the ground was soft, and the air mild though bracing. In the
wide puddles which had gathered in the depressions of the country
roads, a sky mottled with huge, lazy clouds was reflected. A cock
crowed on some distant haystack. Now and then a mischievous wind rose,
bending the long brown grass as it swept along, and making Nancy catch
her breath in a sort of jubilant excitement, as it blew into her face,
and spun out wisps of her hair behind her.

She had turned after about two miles of walking, and was approaching
the pike on the school side of the railroad station, when she heard
behind her the patient creaking of the old hack, and the familiar
clucking of the driver to his lean and melancholy steed. As it came
beside her, she glanced up curiously; then her eyes grew round, and she
stared in incredulous amazement. For, bolt upright on the decrepit
back seat, his head erect under its wide-brimmed black felt hat, his
thin hands folded on the crook of his cane, sat--her Uncle Thomas. She
lacked breath to speak to him; but just then he turned his eyes and saw
her. For a moment he merely gazed at her without a glimmer of
recognition and she had half persuaded herself that his brief visit to
the