y stop till the next train, and then go on to Boston.
In his presence the deacon was not quite natural, but he lifted in his
arms his "little Katy-did," looking straight into her face, where there
were as yet no real lines of care, only shadows, which told that in some
respects she was not the same Katy he had parted with two years before.
There was a good deal of the city about her dress and style, and the
deacon felt a little overawed at first; but this wore off as on their
way to the farmhouse, she, sitting partly in his lap and partly in her
husband's, kept one hand upon his neck, her snowy fingers occasionally
playing with his silvery hair, while she looked at him with her loving
old smile, and asked questions about the people he supposed she had
forgotten, nodding to everybody she met, whether she knew them or not,
and at last, as the old house came in sight, hiding her face in a gush
of happy tears upon his neck, not Wilford's. That gentleman was watching
her in silence, wishing she were less impulsive, and wondering at the
strong home-love he could not understand. To him there was nothing
pleasant in that low, humble farmhouse, or in the rocks and hills which
overshadowed it; while, with the exception of Helen, the women gathered
at the door as they came up were very distasteful to him. But with Katy
it was different. They were her rocks, her hills, her woods, and more
than all, they were her folks into whose arms she threw herself with an
impetuous rush, scarcely waiting for old Whitey to stop, but with one
leap clearing the wheel and springing first to the embrace of her
mother. It was a joyful meeting, and when the first excitement was over
Katy inspected the improvements, approving all, and thanking Wilford for
having done so much for her comfort.

"I shall sleep so nicely here," she said, tossing her hat into Helen's
lap, and lying down at once upon the bed it had taken so long to make.
"Yes, I shall rest so nicely, knowing I can wear my wrapper all day
long. Don't look so horrified, Wilford," she added, as she caught his
eye. "I shall dress me sometimes; but you don't know what a luxury it
is to feel that I need not unless I like."

"Didn't you rest at New London?" Helen asked, when Wilford had left the
room.

"Yes, some," Katy replied; "but there were dances every night, or sails
upon the bay, and I had to go, for many of our friends were there, and
Wilford was not willing for me to be quiet."

This,