haired one was very tall and strong-looking, and the white-haired one
was very rosy and fat. They both looked up at the little, thin, white-
faced girl on the high seat, and smiled. "Well, Father, you got her, I
see," said the brown-haired one. She stepped up to the wagon and held up
her arms to the child. "Come on, Betsy, and get some supper," she said,
as though Elizabeth Ann had lived there all her life and had just driven
into town and back.

And that was the arrival of Elizabeth Ann at Putney Farm.

The brown-haired one took a long, strong step or two and swung her up on
the porch. "You take her in, Mother," she said. "I'll help Father
unhitch."

The fat, rosy, white-haired one took Elizabeth Ann's skinny, cold little
hand in her soft warm fat one, and led her along to the open kitchen
door. "I'm your Aunt Abigail," she said. "Your mother's aunt, you know.
And that's your Cousin Ann that lifted you down, and it was your Uncle
Henry that brought you out from town." She shut the door and went on, "I
don't know if your Aunt Harriet ever happened to tell you about us, and
so ..."

Elizabeth Ann interrupted her hastily, the recollection of all Aunt
Harriet's remarks vividly before her. "Oh yes, oh yes!" she said. "She
always talked about you. She talked about you a lot, she ..." The little
girl stopped short and bit her lip.

If Aunt Abigail guessed from the expression on Elizabeth Ann's face what
kind of talking Aunt Harriet's had been, she showed it only by a
deepening of the wrinkles all around her eyes. She said, gravely: "Well,