"Uncle who?" exclaimed Aunt Janet.

"Uncle Blair--the Story Girl's father, you know. He's here."

"WHERE?"

"Down in the orchard. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there."

"Dear me!" said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly. "If that
isn't like Blair! Of course he couldn't come like anybody else. I
wonder," she added in a tone unheard by anyone else save myself,
"I wonder if he has come to take the child away."

My elation went out like a snuffed candle. I had never thought of
this. If Uncle Blair took the Story Girl away would not life
become rather savourless on the hill farm? I turned and followed
Felicity and Cecily out in a very subdued mood.

Uncle Blair and the Story Girl were just coming out of the
orchard. His arm was about her and hers was on his shoulder.
Laughter and tears were contending in her eyes. Only once before--
when Peter had come back from the Valley of the Shadow--had I
seen the Story Girl cry. Emotion had to go very deep with her ere
it touched the source of tears. I had always known that she loved
her father passionately, though she rarely talked of him,
understanding that her uncles and aunts were not whole-heartedly
his friends.

But Aunt Janet's welcome was cordial enough, though a trifle
flustered. Whatever thrifty, hard-working farmer folk might think