The weather was delightful: because of Phil's return the children were
excused altogether from lessons and nearly every day was taken up with
picnics, riding, driving and boating excursions up and down the river.

They were never allowed to go alone on the water or behind any horse but
"Old Nan," an old slow moving creature that Phil said "could not be
persuaded or forced out of a quiet even trot that was little better than a
walk, for five consecutive minutes."

The mothers were generally of the party;--Lily continuing so much better
that Elsie could leave her, without anxiety, in the faithful care of her
old mammy--and always one or two trusty servants were taken along.

One day Philip got permission to take old Nan and the phaeton and drive
out with the two older girls, Gertrude and Elsie.

They were gone several hours and on their return, while still some miles
from home were overtaken by a heavy shower, from which they took refuge in
a small log-house standing a few yards back from the road.

It was a rude structure built in a wild spot among the rocks and trees,
and evidently the abode of pinching poverty; but everything was clean and
neat, and the occupants, an elderly woman reclining in a high-backed
wooden rocking-chair with her feet propped up on a rude bench, and a young
girl who sat sewing by a window overlooking the road, wore an air of
refinement, and spoke English more correctly and with a purer accent than
sometimes is heard in the abodes of wealth and fashion.

The door stood wide open and the moment Philip drew rein, the girl at the
window called to them to come in out of the wet, and directed the lad to
shelter his horse and phaeton underneath a shed at the side of the house.

Gertrude ran lightly in with a laugh and jest, Elsie following close at
her heels.

The girl rose and setting out two unpainted wooden chairs, invited them to
be seated, remarking as she resumed her work, that the shower had come up
very suddenly, but she hoped they were not wet.

"Not enough to hurt us," said Gertrude.

"Hardly at all, thank you," I said Elsie. "I hope our mammas will not be
alarmed about us, Gerty."

"I don't think they need be so long as there's no thunder and lightning,"
answered Gertrude. "Ah, see how it is pouring over yonder on the mountain,
Elsie!"

The pale face of the woman in the rocking-chair, evidently an invalid, had
grown still paler and her features worked with emotion.

"Child! c