ver-present question.

But in spite of all the ties that held her, Miss Gordon had determined
that, come what might, her homegoing was finally settled this time. It
was to take place immediately after Annie's marriage. For of course
Annie would marry--perhaps a rich gentleman from the town--who knew?
Then, when Annie was settled, Jean must leave school and keep house,
and she would sail away to Edinburgh and Cousin Griselda.

She made this final decision once again, with some stubbornness, as the
breath of the hawthorn brought a hint of her old garden. She finished
Malcolm's sock with a determined snip of her scissors, and took up
John's.

Near the end of the long porch, a door led through the high board wall
into the orchard and kitchen-garden. It swung noisily open, and a
tall, broad-shouldered young woman, arrayed in a gay print cotton gown,
a dusty black velvet sacque, and a faded pink hat, bounced heavily upon
the porch.

Miss Gordon glanced up, and her startled look changed to one of relief
and finally to severity. She bent over her darning.

"Good-afternoon, Sarah Emily," she remarked frigidly.

The young person was apparently unabashed by her chilling reception.
She took one stride to the green bench that stood against the house and
dropped upon it, letting her carpet-bag fall with a thud to the floor.
She stretched out her feet in their thick muddy boots, untied her pink
hat strings, and emitted a sounding sigh.

"Laws--a--day, but I'm dead dog-tired," she exclaimed cordially.

Miss Gordon looked still severer. Evidently Sarah Emily had returned
in no prodigal-son's frame of mind. Ordinarily the mistress would have
sharply rebuked the girl's manner of speech, but now she bent to her
work with an air of having washed her hands finally of this stubborn
case.

But Sarah Emily was of the sort that could not be overawed by any
amount of dignity. She was not troubled, either, with a burdensome
sense of humility--no, not even though this was the third time she had
"given notice," and returned uninvited.

"Well," she exclaimed at length, as though Miss Gordon were arguing the
case with her, "I jist had to have a recess. There ain't no one could
stand the penoeuvres of that young Lizzie, an' the mud she trailed all
over the kitchen jist after I'd scrubbed!"

Miss Gordon showed no signs of sympathy. She felt some, nevertheless,
and suppressed a sigh. Elizabeth certainly was a trial. She deigned