s not very strong. She was about twenty, and pale and
delicate from an indoor life. But one week of Lakelands gave her a
brightness and spirit that changed her wonderfully. The time was early
September when the Cumberlands are at their greatest beauty. The
mountain foliage was growing brilliant with autumnal colours; one
breathed aerial champagne, the nights were deliciously cool, causing
one to snuggle cosily under the warm blankets of the Eagle House.

Father Abram and Miss Chester became great friends. The old miller
learned her story from Mrs. Rankin, and his interest went out quickly
to the slender lonely girl who was making her own way in the world.

The mountain country was new to Miss Chester. She had lived many years
in the warm, flat town of Atlanta; and the grandeur and variety of the
Cumberlands delighted her. She was determined to enjoy every moment of
her stay. Her little hoard of savings had been estimated so carefully
in connection with her expenses that she knew almost to a penny what
her very small surplus would be when she returned to work.

Miss Chester was fortunate in gaining Father Abram for a friend and
companion. He knew every road and peak and slope of the mountains near
Lakelands. Through him she became acquainted with the solemn delight
of the shadowy, tilted aisles of the pine forests, the dignity of the
bare crags, the crystal, tonic mornings, the dreamy, golden afternoons
full of mysterious sadness. So her health improved, and her spirits
grew light. She had a laugh as genial and hearty in its feminine
way as the famous laugh of Father Abram. Both of them were natural
optimists; and both knew how to present a serene and cheerful face to
the world.

One day Miss Chester learned from one of the guests the history of
Father Abram's lost child. Quickly she hurried away and found the
miller seated on his favourite rustic bench near the chalybeate
spring. He was surprised when his little friend slipped her hand into
his, and looked at him with tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Father Abram," she said, "I'm so sorry! I didn't know until
to-day about your little daughter. You will find her yet some day--
Oh, I hope you will."

The miller looked down at her with his strong, ready smile.

"Thank you, Miss Rose," he said, in his usual cheery tones. "But I do
not expect to find Aglaia. For a few years I hoped that she had been
stolen by vagrants, and that she still lived; but I have lost that
hope. I b