room. She says she will take
you and Nan back with her to Lavender House the day after to-morrow."

Annie's face, which had been very bright a moment before, grew suddenly
grave. She murmured something half aloud.

"I won't be outdone by Antonia," she said.

"Really, really, Annie," exclaimed Hester, "I shall get to hate Antonia,
if you allude to her in that sphinx-like way any longer."

Annie looked hard at Hester with dilating eyes and paling cheeks.

"Do you remember," she said, suddenly coming up to her friend, "the old
Annie of Lavender House?"

"How can I forget her," said Hester; "when she is my dearest friend?"

"Do you remember," continued Annie, "the heaps and heaps of scrapes she
used to get into, and how there was no peace for her, and no way out of
them at all except by confession?"

"Yes, I remember," said Hester, gravely.

"Well, I am going to confess now."

"To confess! But you have done nothing wrong, Annie darling."

"Oh, haven't I; I've been just at my old pranks--just as heedless, as
impetuous, as mad, as I have ever been. Hester, I have done wrong, but
as it does not concern you, I won't tell you, dear. Only before I go to
Mrs. Willis, I should like to congratulate you."

"To congratulate me? On what?" asked poor Hester.

"On having the chance of such a girl as Antonia for your sister."

"Now, really, I wont listen to another word," said Hester. "I have quite
made up my mind to _endure_ Antonia, and to be patient with her, but if,
in addition, I am to congratulate myself, I'm just afraid I can't rise
to it. Run away if you want to, Annie, and when you cease to be
mysterious I will talk to you again."

Annie left the room and went slowly upstairs to Mrs. Willis's bedroom.
She knocked and was admitted. What she said--what words passed between
the two were never known, but when Annie left that room there was a look
on her face which reminded those who saw her of the best of Annie in the
old days, and Mrs. Willis was more affectionate than ever to her dear
pupil that evening.

The next day dawned bright and splendid. The trees were beginning to put
on their autumn tints, but the air was still full of summer. The
Lorrimers at the Towers were busy making preparations to come over to
the Grange. They had been invited to the festival by no less a personage
than Sir John Thornton himself, and he had couched his epistle in gay
and pleasant words.

"As if we had any heart for it," murmured