e home often, the joy of reunion with her family never
palled. There was no place like The Dale for Elizabeth, no folk like
her own folk. She did not even notice in her joyous hurry that Charles
Stuart had left and was striding homeward down Champlain's Road.

Mary came running out to meet her. She was a tall girl now, taller
than Elizabeth, but her delicately beautiful face was wasted and pale,
except for two pink spots on her cheeks. Miss Gordon was just behind
her. She had not grown much older looking in the past few years, and
unconsciously had lost some of her stately rigidity. She looked
extremely handsome, her face flushed and alight with happiness. She
did not kiss the visitors, except Baby Jackie, but her eyes shone with
welcome. As she greeted John, she laid one hand for a moment on his
shoulder. She looked at him closely, noting with pride the new air of
gentility even one year at college had given the boy. But as she took
Annie's boy into her arms Miss Gordon's face grew positively sweet.

She had not the privilege of bearing the precious bundle far. Sarah
Emily, who had rushed back to the house to don a clean apron, met her
at the door, and snatching the Vision fled upstairs with him, inquiring
loudly of the blessed petums if it wasn't just Sarah Emily's ownest,
darlingest love.

Mr. Gordon came hurrying in from the field, and after he had made them
all welcome over again, he followed John about in a happy daze, saying
again and again that if only Mary and Malcolm were here--no, no, Archie
and Lizzie--tuts, it was Malcolm and Jean he meant,--if they were only
home now, the family would be complete--"almost complete," he added.
And then his eyes once more took on their far-away look, and he slipped
away into the study, whither Elizabeth softly followed him.

In the late afternoon the younger boys came home from school, and the
excitement had to be all lived through again. They all wandered about
the old house, everyone following in the wake of the baby. The Dale
rooms were not the bare, echoing spaces they once were. Just two years
before, Cousin Griselda had passed quietly away, and her little
annuity, as well as the property in McGlashan Street, had passed to
Miss Gordon. The latter had experienced much real grief over her loss,
and had taken pains in the intervening time to impress upon all her
family that this bereavement was part of the sacrifice she had
deliberately made for them. Ne