ad lighted
up that bright October day. And leaning against the pillar of the gate
was the third figure of the party, and the queerest--a tiny man, not
much taller than the little girl, with huge head, long arms, shrivelled,
haggard face, and deep-set, eager eyes--a dwarf, in short, and, at the
first glance, the most uncouth that ever was seen.

Miss Turner drew herself up in astonishment and annoyance at the
ill-timed intrusion of the three little tramps. A something in the
boy's eyes, however, arrested the words of rebuke and dismissal which
hung ready to fall from her lips, and she looked at them again before
stepping forward to shut the gate in their faces.

But Miss Alice's sight was quicker than her sister's, her instincts
truer, her faith stronger, and with a low, glad cry of "My dears! my
dears!" she sprang, swift as a girl, toward the children, bent down, and
Darby and Joan felt themselves gathered close and tight within Auntie
Alice's loving arms; while from Aunt Catharine's eyes the thankful tears
rained thick and fast, mingled with a shower of kisses, upon their
smiling, upturned faces.

"We's comed home again, Aunt Catharine," announced Joan cheerfully and
easily, as if the pair of them had just returned from church. "Is you
glad to see us?" she asked, smiling sweetly into her aunt's swimming
eyes.

"Yes, Joan, very, very glad; I don't think you'll ever know _how_ glad,"
answered Miss Turner gravely.

"Darby and me went away to look for the Happy Land--like what nurse
sings 'bout, don't you know?--far, far away," explained the little
girl. "But we didn't find it after goin' miles and miles and miles;
we only finded a old carawan, and some bad peoples, and Puck, and a
_ee-mornous_ (enormous) bear! Now we's back, and I's awful hung'y!
Is there any cake or cold puddin', or anythin' good for tea?" she
inquired anxiously, looking audaciously up into the familiar face of Aunt
Catharine--familiar, of course, yet with a something so new and strange
in its softened lines that the little one instinctively put up a dirty
hand and softly stroked her aunt's cheek, murmuring as she did so, in
her sweet, cooing voice, "Poor Aunt Catharine! Joan loves you, and
willn't never, never go away from you any more. Now, please tell me,
_is_ there anythin' good for tea?" she demanded.

"Joan!" exclaimed Darby in a shocked undertone, as if mere creature
comforts like cake and cold pudding were not to be thought of at such a
t