mile above the hurt
and pain of her tiring days and homesick nights; the smooth braids of
shining hair bound the lifted head just as dear Madam Bubble had
designed them on the morning when the portrait of "The Biggest of Them
All" was hung in the Significant Room.

"You--wanted to see--me?"

The drawl had become sacred to Matilda's ears.

"Yes, my child. I have come from your old home just to see--you."

A faint colour stole into the whiteness of the fair face.

"From Lost Mountain?" Oh! if Sandy could have heard her say that word
how it would have rested his soul! "From Lost Mountain?"

"Yes, my dear. Come and sit here beside me."

Matilda could not stand longer. Her knees shook beneath her for, like
a blinding light, the knowledge came to her that poor Lans, with all
his faults, was exonerated from any wrong to this young girl! The
innocent old eyes and the radiant young ones had no veil between them.
Sitting side by side they smiled bravely at each other and then Cynthia
reached out her hands.

"You are"--she whispered--"you are Sandy Morley's fairy godmother! Oh!
I know all about you. Lans has told me. I am right glad--oh! mighty
glad to see you!"

The voice shook with emotion and Matilda Markham could not answer for a
moment. Never in her life had she been so moved. She longed to take
this girl to her heart and hold her there, but instead she found
herself, presently, telling the homely news of the hills to the hungry
soul whose yearning eyes never fell from her face.

"And the little doctor is my own aunt, you know?"

"Yes, child. They told me all about it."

"It's right good to have one's own--at last;" this was plaintively
whispered; "and my dear, dear father. You know his story, too?"

"Yes. It lives in the hills and speaks for him even to-day."

"They-all say I'm like my father."

"I am sure you must be. You are like Miss Lowe, and I guess one can
always tell which parent a boy or girl is like. I guess Sandy, now, is
like his mother. He doesn't favour his father."

"Yes. I reckon Sandy must be like his mother. I had never thought of
that before."

Cynthia's eyes were fixed and dreamy.

"And you, child, are you happy and content?"--the words of Sandy were
the only ones possible--"I must tell them all about you when I go back."

"You are--going back?" the yearning was unmistakable--"I thought,
maybe, you were going to stay here--I'd be mighty glad to have you
near."