"Good-by, Mr. Gerrish," Isabelle called to the station agent, who was
watching them at a respectful distance. Suddenly he seemed to be an old
friend, a part of all that she was leaving behind.

"Good-by, Miss Price--Mrs. Lane," he called back. "Good luck to you!"

"Dear old Vick," Isabelle murmured caressingly, "I hate most to leave you
behind."

"Better stay, then,--it isn't too late," he joked. "We could elope with the
ponies,--you always said you would run off with me!"

She hugged him more tightly, burying her head in his neck, shaking him
gently. "Dear old Vick! Don't be a fool! And be good to Dad, won't you?"

"I'll try not to abuse him."

"You know what I mean--about staying over for the summer. Oh dear, dear!"
There was a queer sob in her voice, as if now for the first time she knew
what it was. The old life was all over. Vick had been so much of that! And
she had seen little or nothing of him since his return from Europe, so
absorbed had she been in the bustle of her marriage. Up there on Dog
Mountain which swam in the haze of the June afternoon they had walked on
snowshoes one cold January night, over the new snow by moonlight, talking
marvellously of all that life was to be. She believed then that she should
never marry, but remain always Vick's comrade,--to guide him, to share his
triumphs. Now she was abandoning that child's plan. She shook with nervous
sobs.