know myself," returned Edna. "None of us knew. She was too
modest, too delicate, to tell. She went alone to do these things, to
try her powers. She had come to the place where she meant to tell me.
She said so to-day. Doubtless she believed in her ability at last."
Edna again seized the pillow slip and shook out a number of bits of
paper that had sunk to the bottom. There fell out with them various
stained, tightly-rolled paper stumps, which had evidently been used in
lieu of brushes.

The three heads gathered together to look at the sketches of themselves
and the family at the Mill Farm.

"By Jove, she has got it in her," repeated Dunham, regarding a drawing
of himself as he had appeared to be asleep in the boat.

Judge Trent was examining his own penciled face, frowning beneath the
silk hat. He shrugged his shoulders and smiled. "I shall have to speak
to Sylvia about this. Call her in, Edna."

It was the judge's last consecutive sentence for some time. All the
company stared in equal amazement and apprehension, as Edna suddenly
bowed her head on the lawyer's little broadcloth shoulder, and shook
him with her sobs.

"Edna!" exclaimed Dunham, stepping forward, and he was unconscious of
the severity of his voice. "Do you know you're frightening us? Where is
Sylvia?"

"G-gone!"

"Where, for mercy's sake?" demanded Miss Martha tremulously.

"H-home, to the Tide Mill." Edna managed to jerk out the words. "W-wait
a minute."

As soon as she could lift her head and wipe her eyes, a process which
gave Judge Trent infinite relief, she saw John's face grown so white
under its tan that it helped her to become steady.

"She's--safe, I'm sure," she said. "We had--a misunderstanding, and it
was all my fault, and I suppose she left this noon as soon as she could
get away from us. She left a note for me. I found it when I came up to
knock on her door. She said she was homesick."

"I don't understand at all," said Judge Trent. "Sylvia gone back to the
farm, without a by-your-leave to her hostess? Confoundedly bad manners
I call it." The lawyer's thought was creaking through unaccustomed
ruts. He had been cheated out of Sylvia's companionship, after all, and
his favorite Edna was in tears. He could _not_ understand, and his
frown was portentous.

"It is my fault," repeated Edna. "Spare me from explaining, because in
the morning I shall go over to the farm myself and make things right."

"Just like that erratic father of