wide slopes, leaving the nooks and haunts in suggestive darkness.
Just a dainty little mist fit for dryad robes lingered about. And here
at the back, down to the small stream, dogwoods and late red maples and
horse-chestnuts were in bloom. Could there be a lovelier picture? Had
Europe anything better? And the fragrance might have come from Araby the
blest. It was all youth and freshness, and it took her back to the
summer of two years ago when everything wonderful had just dawned upon
her.

In this mood she wrote her letter. All her life long she was glad she
had not come to second thoughts, about the matter, but kept the first
thoughts of joyous youth and gladness and gratefulness. The rising bell
rang and she hurried along, wrote her last word at the next summons and
sealed her letter.

"Where have you been?" cried Daisy at the apparition in trailing gown,
as she opened her eyes.

"Writing a letter in the study." Then she hurried into skirt and waist
and joined the group going downstairs, giving bright good-mornings to
one and another.

"I can't think what ails you," cried Daisy in astonishment. "You
look--enchanted and--frightened."

"I will tell you--the first of anybody. It is so strange I hardly
believe it myself."

They were all striving their utmost, this group of girls. Examinations
were so near, pictures were to be finished, little gifts made to be
exchanged, remembrances of one's handiwork. An excursion across the
river to add pages to their lore on wild flowers which were to be
pressed and put in books. A lecture on Browning that evening down at the
town-hall, and Mrs. Wiley was to take a host of girls.

"If he only would read 'Herve Riel'!" said Helen. And to think she might
see the very place where the ships came in safely. It would be worth
much to her.

There is always a reaction from an exalted state, and this came to Helen
Grant. By degrees she remembered what she might be giving up, what she
might be called upon to do. If Miss Gage was coming home, she would take
her place, and be companion, have the whims, the impatience, and the
restlessness to contend with. She had experienced some of it already.
Past eighty--why, that was old age, decrepitude presently, loss of
memory--some old people had to be told things over and over again. She
had never thought of real old age in connection with Mrs. Van Dorn. And
she would spend all her bright young years--there would be no further
delightful scho