a little basket with some delicacies and a pot of
jelly, and like a true Mother Hubbard, started off,
while Jane, having persuaded herself that perhaps
"the surprise" was meant for her, and that she
might be welcoming two exiles instead of one the
following night, began to put Lucy's room in order
and to lay out the many pretty things she loved,
especially the new dressing-gown she had made for
her, lined with blue silk--her favorite color.

All that day and evening, and far into the next
afternoon, Jane went about the house with the refrain
of an old song welling up into her heart--one that
had been stifled for months. The thought of the
round-about way in which Lucy had sent for Martha
did not dull its melody. That ruse, she knew, came
from the foolish pride of youth, the pride that could
not meet defeat. Underneath it she detected, with a
thrill, the love of home; this, after all, was what her
sister could not do without. It was not Bart this
time. That affair, as she had predicted and had
repeatedly told Martha, had worn itself out and had
been replaced by her love of music. She had simply
come to herself once more and would again be her
old-time sister and her child. Then, too--and this
sent another wave of delight tingling through her--
it had all been the doctor's doing! But for his
advice she would never have let Lucy go.

Half a dozen times, although the November afternoon