glamour of the unknown about it to lend a wonderful charm to our
speculations concerning it.

We were delighted at the thought of seeing father's old home, and
living among the haunts of his boyhood. He had talked so much to
us about it, and described its scenes so often and so minutely,
that he had inspired us with some of his own deep-seated
affection for it--an affection that had never waned in all his
years of exile. We had a vague feeling that we, somehow,
belonged there, in that cradle of our family, though we had never
seen it. We had always looked forward eagerly to the promised
day when father would take us "down home," to the old house with
the spruces behind it and the famous "King orchard" before
it--when we might ramble in "Uncle Stephen's Walk," drink from
the deep well with the Chinese roof over it, stand on "the Pulpit
Stone," and eat apples from our "birthday trees."

The time had come sooner than we had dared to hope; but father
could not take us after all. His firm asked him to go to Rio de
Janeiro that spring to take charge of their new branch there. It
was too good a chance to lose, for father was a poor man and it
meant promotion and increase of salary; but it also meant the
temporary breaking up of our home. Our mother had died before
either of us was old enough to remember her; father could not
take us to Rio de Janeiro. In the end he decided to send us to
Uncle Alec and Aunt Janet down on the homestead; and our
housekeeper, who belonged to the Island and was now returning to
it, took charge of us on the journey. I fear she had an anxious
trip of it, poor woman! She was constantly in a quite
justifiable terror lest we should be lost or killed; she must