an porch seemed to cower before its fury. It was a woman who
stood there, a woman whose emaciated face wore a piteous expression,
as she lifted it to Mrs. March.

"You don't know me, of course," she said, with a feeble attempt at
dignity. "I am Mrs. Baxter. I--I used to live here long ago. I thought
I'd walk over today and see my old home."

A fit of coughing interrupted her words, and she trembled like a leaf.

"Gracious me!" exclaimed Mrs. March blankly. "You don't mean to tell
me that you have walked over from Oriental today--and you a sick
woman! For pity's sake, come in, quick. And if you're not wet to the
skin!"

She fairly pulled her visitor into the hall, and led her to the
sitting-room.

"Sit down. Take this big easy-chair right up to the fire--so. Let me
take your bonnet and shawl. I must run right out to tell Hannah to get
you a hot drink."

"You are very kind," whispered the other. "I don't know you, but you
look like a woman I used to know when I was a girl. She was a Mrs.
Bennett, and she had a daughter, Anna. Do you know what became of her?
I forget. I forget everything now."

"My name is March," said Mrs. March briefly, ignoring the question. "I
don't suppose you ever heard it before."

She wrapped her own warm shawl about the other woman's thin shoulders.
Then she hastened to the kitchen and soon returned, carrying a tray of
food and a steaming hot drink. She wheeled a small table up to her
visitor's side and said, very kindly,

"Now, take a bite, my dear, and this raspberry vinegar will warm you
right up. It is a dreadful day for you to be out. Why on earth didn't
Joel Kent drive you over?"

"They didn't know I was coming," whispered Mrs. Baxter anxiously.
"I--I ran away. Sarah wouldn't have let me come if she had known. But
I wanted to come so much. It is so nice to be home again."

Mrs. March watched her guest as she ate and drank. It was plain enough
that her mind, or rather her memory, was affected. She did not
realize that this was no longer her home. At moments she seemed to
fancy herself back in the past again. Once or twice she called Mrs.
March "Mother."

Presently a sharp knock was heard at the hall door. Mrs. March excused
herself and went out. In the porch stood Theodosia Stapp and a woman
whom Mrs. March did not at first glance recognize--a tall,
aggressive-looking person, whose sharp black eyes darted in past Mrs.
March and searched every corner of the hall before anyone h