me."

Then she went on in a silence which he knew her too well to disturb and
finally she announced:

"I think I'll give a house party at Deerhurst. A regular old-fashioned
'infair,' though it'll be no bride for whom the festivity is given.
After the assembly--what seems best! Those Breckenridges and their
camping friends; including the old 'boys' and young ones. The foster
parents, of course; and Johnnie must be written to about bringing that
sealed letter of mine, that I entrusted to his care. I marked it not to
be opened till after my death; but I think I'll postpone dying--if God
wills!--for I'm not nearly so dumpish as I was the day I sealed that
packet and set my directions upon it. I may open it and I may not. I may
oblige Lu Breckenridge by letting her think she's a wonderful clever
woman, and I may take the wind out of her sails by telling her--the
truth. What do you say? Will you go along?"

"Will I not? I should go anyway, whether your house-warming-infair
materializes or not. I hope, though, you won't change your mind, because
I long for the mountain and my peaceful life upon it. I hope you'll
stick to this notion longer than some others."

"Then come in and help me write the invitations and set things in trim
for such a big entertaining. After they're written I can't change my
mind, you know, though I rarely do. I scorn the imputation. Only, ought
I to do it? Will it be for the best?"

"Oh! make haste, Betty Calvert! If I don't get those invitations off in
the first mail I'll never be allowed to send them at all!"

He spoke jestingly, yet not without deep sympathy. The "change of mind"
she intimated meant much, very much to little Dorothy; whose best
interests nobody had so much in mind as these two old people with the
young hearts. But his own desire was now for the clearing of all that
"mystery" which had enveloped the child from her infancy and which only
they two could solve.

The notes were written and most promptly posted. Then other matters were
put in line to make the reopening of Deerhurst the most memorable event
in its history. Servants were ordered thither, disused rooms were aired
and fitted for occupancy, every scrap of fallen leaf or intrusive weed
removed from its driveways and paths, and in all the glory of its
early-autumn beauty the fine old place awaited the coming of its
mistress and her guests.

First of all to arrive was one James Barlow, with two kindly happy dogs,
leaping