o to Packertown and back, and that, you know, is a few hours this side
of Washington."

There was silence for several minutes, while Judith, already ashamed of
her outburst, stitched twice round the skirt she was making for Amy.
Then she said in a cheerful tone that somehow forbade any return to the
subject, "Tell me about Packertown, Cousin Barbara. How did you happen
to stray off there after a music class?"

The trip to Washington was mentioned no more that summer, but Miss
Barbara understood.

It was the middle of September when the old yellow omnibus rolled up for
Miss Barbara and her trunk. This time there was no returning in mad
haste after forgotten property. With a precision that was almost
fussiness, she had packed her trunk days before her departure, and her
bonnet was on an hour before train time.

"I can't help it," she said, calmly, when Judith remonstrated. "It's
just my way. I have a horror of keeping any one waiting. Habitual
disregard of punctuality in the keeping of an engagement or a promise is
a sort of dishonesty, in my opinion. I suppose I do carry it to an
extreme in minor matters, but it is better to do that than to cause
other people needless anxiety and trouble."

Miss Barbara was mounted on her hobby now, and she ambled vigorously
along until Amy, with a sigh of relief, announced that she heard wheels.
Amy had heard Cousin Barbara's views more than once, when a missing shoe
button, a torn glove, or an unanswered note, claimed immediate
attention.

"Remember, Judith," said Miss Barbara, at parting, "if anything should
happen to make it possible for you to go to Washington, be sure and let
me know. I want to arrange for you to stop with me a week on your way."
But even as Judith spoke her thanks, she shook her head. She had stopped
building air-castles.

Winter came early to Westbrooke. Mrs. Allen ran over occasionally with a
letter from Marguerite, who was an erratic correspondent, sometimes
sending interesting daily bulletins of sixteen or twenty pages,
sometimes breaking a month's silence by only a postal card. They rarely
heard from Miss Barbara, but, one snowy day late in January, Amy dashed
in from the post-office with a letter to Judith, addressed in her
unmistakable precise little hand. She wrote:

"The new year began for me with a great pleasure, Judith dear. An
old bill, which I had been unable to collect for so long that I
crossed it off my books two years ago