I watched her on the train," the Major confessed as he and Randy drove
off. "She read all the way down, and smiled over her book. I saw the
title, and it was 'Pickwick Papers.' Fancy that in these days. Most
young people don't read Dickens."

"Well, she isn't young, is she?"

"Not callow, if that's what you mean, you ungallant cub. But she is
young in contrast to a Methuselah like myself."

Kemp had to look after Miss MacVeigh's trunks, so Randy's little car
went on ahead. Thus again Fate pulled wires, or Providence. If the big
car had had the lead Madge would have gone straight as an arrow to
Hamilton Hill. But as it happened, Little Sister barred the way to the
open road.

II

The two cars had to pass the Flippins. Mrs. Flippin and Mary were baking
cakes for the feast at Huntersfield. Mrs. Flippin was to go over in the
afternoon and help Mandy, and to-morrow Truxton and his mother would
arrive.

"The Judge is like a boy," said Mrs. Flippin; "he's so glad to have
Truxton home."

"Perhaps he won't be so glad when he gets here----"

"Why not?" Mrs. Flippin turned and stared at her daughter.

Mary was seeding raisins, wetting her fingers now and then in a glass of
water which stood on a table by her side. "Well, Truxton may be
changed--most of the men are, aren't they?"

"Is Randy Paine changed?"

"Yes, Mother."

"How?"

"He's a grown-up."

"Well, he needed to grow, and it wouldn't hurt Truxton either."

"But if Truxton has grown up and wants his own way--the Judge won't like
it. The Judge has always ruled at Huntersfield."

"Well, he supports Truxton; why shouldn't he?"

A bright flush stained Mary's skin. "Truxton has his officer's pay now."

"He won't have it when he gets out of the Army."

Mary rose and went to the stove. She came back with a kettle and poured
boiling water over a dish of almonds to blanch them.

"We ought to have made this fruit cake a week ago to have it really
good," she said, and shelved the subject of Truxton Beaufort.

"It will be good enough as it is," said Mrs. Flippin; "there isn't
anybody in the county that can beat me when it comes to baking cakes."

"Where's Fiddle," Mary said, suddenly; "can you see her from the window,
Mother?"

Mrs. Flippin could not.

"Well, she's probably sailing her celluloid fish in the chickens' water
pan," said Mary; "I'll go out and look her up in a minute."

But Fiddle was not sailing celluloid fish. Columbus-like she had decid