had been at the same time so hard and so pleasant, and was now
so sad. Tears rushed to her eyes as she gazed, and she whispered to
herself so softly that no one else could hear, "Good-by. Good-by,
papa."

How strange and yet how familiar, the road seemed!--the very road over
which she and papa had passed less than two years before. It was the
one journey of her life, and she recollected every thing perfectly.
There was the nameless village, looking exactly the same, but no
longer nameless; for a wooden board was suspended over the steamboat
landing, with "Pocobasset" painted upon it in large letters. Pretty
soon the steamboat came along, the same identical steamboat, and down
the river they went, past all the tiny islands and wooded capes which
she remembered so well; only the light was of sunset now instead of
sun-rising, and the trees, which then were tinged with coming spring,
now bore the red and yellow leaves of autumn. There was the
good-natured stewardess and the captain,--nobody was changed,--nothing
had happened, as it seemed, except to herself.

They left the boat, very early in the morning, at a point some fifty
miles short of that from which she and papa had embarked, and,
travelling all day, reached Atterbury late on the second afternoon.
Eyebright had plenty of time to recall her dread of Mrs. Joyce as they
drove up from the station. The town was large and thriving, and looked
like a pleasant one. There were many white-painted, green-blinded
houses, with neat court-yards, of the kind always to be found in New
England villages; but among these appeared, here and there, a quaint,
old-fashioned mansion; and the elm-shaded streets gave glimpses of
pretty country beyond, woodlands, cultivated valley-lands, and an
encircling line of hills with softly rounded outlines. Eyebright
thought it a delightful-looking place. They drew up before a wide,
ample house, whose garden blazed with late flowers, and Mr. Joyce,
lifting her out, hurried up the gravel walk, she following timidly,
threw open the front door, and called loudly: "Mother! Mother! where
are you, Mother?"

At the call, a stout little lady, in a pink-ribboned cap, hurried out
of a room at one side of the hall.

"Oh, Benjamin, is it really you? My dear husband. Well, I _am_ glad;"
and she gave him _such_ a kiss. Then, turning to Eyebright, she said
in the kindest voice,--

"And this is your little girl, is it? Why, Benjamin, she is taller
than I am!