found on the plains.

Toward evening the grave butler, with many a deprecatory glance at the
neighborhood, arrived at the door of Mrs. Brady, and delivered himself of
the following message to that astonished lady, backed by her daughter and
her granddaughter, with their ears stretched to the utmost to hear every
syllable:

"Mrs. Merrill Wilton Bailey sends word that her granddaughter, Miss
Elizabeth, has reached her home safely, and will remain with her. Miss
Elizabeth will come sometime to see Mrs. Brady, and thank her for her
kindness during her stay with her."

The butler bowed, and turned away with relief. His dignity and social
standing had not been so taxed by the family demands in years. He was glad
he might shake off the dust of Flora Street forever. He felt for the
coachman. He would probably have to drive the young lady down here
sometime, according to that message.

Mrs. Brady, her daughter, and Lizzie stuck their heads out into the
lamplighted street, and watched the dignified butler out of sight. Then
they went in and sat down in three separate stages of relief and
astonishment.

"Fer the land sakes!" ejaculated the grandmother. "Wall, now, if that
don't beat all!" then after a minute: "The impertinent fellow! And the
impidence of the woman! Thank me fer my kindness to me own grandchild! I'd
thank her to mind her business, but then that's just like her."

"Her nest is certainly well feathered," said Aunt Nan enviously. "I only