man's neck.

"Father! Father!" she cried, while I stood, rooted to the ground in my
amazement.

The sleeper stirred and opened two large, exceedingly brilliant hazel
eyes. For a moment he gazed rather blankly at the brown-curled young
lady who was embracing him. Then a most delightful smile broke over his
face; he sprang up and caught her to his heart.

"Sara--Sara--my little Sara! To think didn't know you at first glance!
But you are almost a woman. And when I saw you last you were just a
little girl of eight. My own little Sara!"

"Father--father--sometimes I've wondered if you were ever coming back to
me," I heard the Story Girl say, as I turned and scuttled up the Walk,
realizing that I was not wanted there just then and would be little
missed. Various emotions and speculations possessed my mind in my
retreat; but chiefly did I feel a sense of triumph in being the bearer
of exciting news.

"Aunt Janet, Uncle Blair is here," I announced breathlessly at the
kitchen door.

Aunt Janet, who was kneading her bread, turned round and lifted floury
hands. Felicity and Cecily, who were just entering the kitchen, rosy
from slumber, stopped still and stared at me.

"Uncle who?" exclaimed Aunt Janet.

"Uncle Blair--the Story Girl's father, you know. He's here."

"WHERE?"

"Down in the orchard. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there."

"Dear me!" said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly. "If that isn't
like Blair! Of course he couldn't come like anybody else. I wonder," she
added in a tone unheard by anyone else save myself, "I wonder if he has
come to take the child away."

My elation went out like a snuffed candle. I had never thought of this.
If Uncle Blair took the Story Girl away would not life become rather
savourless on the hill farm? I turned and followed Felicity and Cecily
out in a very subdued mood.

Uncle Blair and the Story Girl were just coming out of the orchard. His
arm was about her and hers was on his shoulder. Laughter and tears were
contending in her eyes. Only once before--when Peter had come back from
the Valley of the Shadow--had I seen the Story Girl cry. Emotion had to
go very deep with her ere it touched the source of tears. I had always
known that she loved her father passionately, though she rarely talked
of him, understanding that her uncles and aunts were not whole-heartedly
his friends.

But Aunt Janet's welcome was cordial enough, though a trifle flustered.
Whatever th