Ruth descended, inwardly vowing that she would ride no more in
Joe's carriage, and after giving some directions about her trunk,
followed her guide indoors.

The storm-beaten house was certainly entitled to the respect
accorded to age. It was substantial, but unpretentious in
outline, and had not been painted for a long time. The faded
green shutters blended harmoniously with the greyish white
background, and the piazza, which was evidently an unhappy
afterthought of the architect, had two or three new shingles on
its roof.

"You see it's this way, Miss Thorne," the maid began, volubly;
"Miss Hathaway, she went earlier than she laid out to, on account
of the folks decidin' to take a steamer that sailed
beforehand--before the other one, I mean. She went in sech a
hurry that she didn't have time to send you word and get an
answer, but she's left a letter here for you, for she trusted to
your comin'."

Miss Thorne laid her hat and jacket aside and settled herself
comfortably in a rocker. The maid returned presently with a
letter which Miss Hathaway had sealed with half an ounce of red
wax, presumably in a laudable effort to remove temptation from
the path of the red-cheeked, wholesome, farmer's daughter who
stood near by with her hands on her hips.

"Miss Ruth Thorne," the letter began,