in the world, save for a few distant relatives who called her Cousin
Barbara. After a short visit, she would go away for another long
absence, but not, like Marguerite, to a life full of many interests and
pleasures. She had only her music pupils in a little Pennsylvania mining
town, and a room in a boarding-house.

"Come in, Cousin Barbara," said Judith, cordially. "I was sighing over
Marguerite's departure. You know she was my best friend at school, and I
have missed her so much since her marriage. The other girls in our class
have all gone away to teach or take positions somewhere, except the two
who married and settled down here in Westbrooke; and they have such
different interests now. All they can talk about is their housekeeping
or their babies. Most of the boys have gone away, too. I don't wonder.
Anybody with any ambition would get away from such a place if it were
within the range of possibilities."

Cousin Barbara had seated herself in a low rocking-chair and was pulling
the basting threads from a finished garment. "Listen!" she said, "isn't
that Amy calling again?" An excited little voice came shrilly up the
stairs.

"Look, Judith! Mrs. Avery is coming back again! What do you suppose is
the matter?"

The omnibus dashing down the road stopped suddenly at the gate opposite.
The door burst open, and the dignified Mr. Avery, in undignified haste,
ran breathlessly toward the house, while Marguerite called out a
laughing explanation to her friend at the window.

"I left my watch on the dressing-table and my purse with my trunk keys