ernity of waiting, they started, and soon were in the country once
more in that wonderful Truro valley with its fruit trees and its clover
scents; with its sparkling stream that tumbled through the passes and
mirrored between green meadow-banks the blue and white of the sky. How
hungrily they drank in the freshness of it.

They reached Truro village at eleven. Outside the little tavern there,
after dinner, the green stage was drawn up; and Tom the driver cracked
his long whip over the Morgan leaders and they started, swaying in the
sand ruts and jolting over the great stones that cropped out of the
road. Up they climbed, through narrow ways in the forest--ways hedged
with alder and fern and sumach and wild grape, adorned with oxeye
daisies and tiger lilies, and the big purple flowers which they knew
and loved so well. They passed, too, wild lakes overhung with primeval
trees, where the iris and the waterlily grew among the fallen trunks and
the water-fowl called to each other across the blue stretches. And at
length, when the sun was beginning visibly to fall, they came out into
an open cut on the western side and saw again the long line of Coniston
once more against the sky.

"Dad," said Cynthia, as she gazed, "don't you love it better than any
other place in the world?"

He did. But he could not answer her.

An hour later, from the hilltops above Isaac Worthington's mills, they
saw the terraced steeple of Brampton church, and soon the horses were
standing with drooping heads and wet sides in front of Mr. Sherman's
tavern in Brampton Street; and Lem Hallowell, his honest face aglow with
joy, was lifting Cynthia out of the coach as if she were a bundle of
feathers.

"Upon my word," he cried, "this is a little might sudden! What's the
matter with the capital, Will? Too wicked and sophisticated down thar to
suit ye?" By this time, Wetherell, too, had reached the ground, and as
Lem Hallowell gazed into his face the laughter in his own died away and
gave place to a look of concern. "Don't wonder ye come back," he said,
"you're as white as Moses's hoss."

"He isn't feeling very well, Lem;" said Cynthia.

"Jest tuckered, that's all," answered Lem; "you git him right into the
stage, Cynthy, I won't be long. Hurry them things off, Tom," he called,
and himself seized a huge crate from the back of the coach and flung it
on his shoulder. He had his cargo on in a jiffy, clucked to his horses,
and they turned into the famili