thanked the old lady, and said good-by so prettily that, after they
were gone, she told Mr. Worrett that it hadn't been a bit of trouble
having them there, and she hoped they would come again; they enjoyed
every thing so much; only it was a pity that Elsie looked so peaked.
And at that very moment Elsie was sitting on the floor of the carryall,
with her head in John's lap, crying and sobbing for joy that the visit
was over and that she was on the way home. "If only I live to get
there," she said, "I'll never, no, never, go into the country again!"
which was silly enough; but we must forgive her because she was half
sick.

Ah, how charming home did look, with the family grouped in the shady
porch, Katy in her white wrapper, Clover with rose-buds in her belt,
and everybody ready to welcome and pet the little absentees! There
was much hugging and kissing, and much to tell of what had happened
in the two days: how a letter had come from Cousin Helen; how Daisy
White had four kittens as white as herself; how Dorry had finished
his water-wheel,--a wheel which turned in the bath-tub, and was
"really ingenious," papa said; and Phil had "swapped" one of his
bantam chicks for on of Eugene Slack's Bramapootras. It was not
till they were all seated round the tea-table that anybody demanded
an account of the visit. Elsie felt this a relief, and was just
thinking how delicious every thing was, from the sliced peaches to
the clinking ice in the milk-pitcher, when papa put the dreaded
question,--

"Well, Elsie, so you decided to come, after all. How was it? Why
didn't you stay your week out? You look pale, it seems to me. Have
you been enjoying yourself too much? Tell us all about it."