of sight. They could see an automobile, like a speck, moving
swiftly along it.

"Your road, down there, goes off the other side of the mountain and on
and on and after a very long way--takes me back home. I'm going on
Thursday."

Jerry turned a disappointed face. Each day of John Westley's two weeks
near Miller's Notch had brought immeasurable pleasure and excitement
into her life.

"Mrs. Allan is going to drive back with me--she lived in my town, you
know. She hasn't been home for months and I shall enjoy her company."

Jerry was staring at the distant road. After awhile the specks that were
automobiles and that she liked to watch would become fewer and fewer;
the days would grow colder, school would begin, the snow would come and
choke the trails and she and Sweetheart and Little-Dad would be shut in
at Sunnyside for weeks and weeks. Her face clouded.

"And now listen very carefully, Jerry, and hold on to my arm so that you
won't fall off from the mountain! _You_ are going with us!"

Jerry _did_ hold on to his arm with a grip that hurt. She stared, with
round, wondering eyes.

He laughed at her unbelief. "Your wish is coming true! You're going to
ride along that road yonder, in my automobile, which ought to get here
to-morrow, straight around to the other side of the mountain, and on and
on--then you're going to stay all winter with my own nieces and go to
school with them----"

Jerry's breath came in an excited gasp.

"Oh, it _can't_--be--true! Mother'd _never_ let me."

"It _is_ true! Mothers are always willing to do the things that are
going to be best for their girls. Mrs. Allan and I have persuaded
her----"

But Jerry, with a "whoop," was racing down the trail, Bigboy and
Pepperpot at her heels. She vaulted the little gate leading into the
garden and swept like a small whirlwind upon her mother, sitting in the
willow rocker on the porch. With a violent hug she tried to express the
madness of her joy and so completely was her face hidden on her mother's
shoulder that she did not see the quick tears that blinded her mother's
eyes.

That was on Monday--there were only three days to get her small wardrobe
ready and packed and to ask the thousand questions concerning the
Westley girls (Graham was utterly forgotten) and the school. Then there
were wonderful, long talks with mother, sitting close by her side, one
hand tight in hers--solemn talks that were to linger in Jerry's heart
all her life.

"I do