“She says she can find a way, and she says furthermore that she has worked all these years for nothing but her board and clothes, so she doesn’t see why she cannot do it a while longer, if she chooses to.” “John will never consent to taking all three of us; he will be delighted if you go, but Fidgetty Lou----” She shook her head, and Alison laughed. “Settle it between you,” she said. “I am going, anyhow, for if Fidgetty Lou has the courage to face the uncertainty of pioneer life, why should not I? Especially since my nearest and dearest will be with me. Fidgetty Lou has no such tugging at her heart-strings.” “It will be a blow to Aunt Miranda to lose you both.” “She has never had me to lose, for I am here only on a visit; it was so understood from the first, and at the end of the three months I was to decide whether I would accept the offer of a home here, an offer which I am made to understand is of great advantage. I am very sure that Uncle Brown will not omit every morning to pray openly for the ‘young pensioner upon our bounty.’ I shall never be allowed to forget, even on Sundays, that I am a pensioner, and it will be a great strain upon me to beam gratitude when my heart is pining for you. As for Fidgetty Lou, she has always declared that when her time was out she meant to leave. She has never said anything else, and now that she has fallen in love with my big sister she is determined to follow her fortunes. You may be four years older than I, Tina, but you cannot persuade me that my lot here will be a happier one than with you and John. It is all clear enough in my mind and I shall tell Aunt Miranda to-night. It will not break her heart to part with me, and so far as Fidgetty Lou is concerned she will get another orphan to train up the way she should go, and will rather enjoy the process.” “Fidgetty Lou could get good wages somewhere,” said Christine thoughtfully. “She would rather see the world at present. Here she comes.” Fidgetty Lou entered, arrayed in a spotless blue frock and gingham apron. Her red hair was drawn tightly back into a hard knot; her freckled face beamed with good-nature. A little nervous twitch of the head alone remained as the result of an attack of St. Vitus’s dance which had obtained for her, when a child, the nickname of Fidgetty Lou. Behind her came Aunt Miranda, as scrupulously neat. Her black alpaca apron covered a black stuff gown; her hair, plastered down each side her face and tucked behind her ears, showed not a stray lock. She looked the table over comprehensively, then replaced some of the knives and forks, remarking that they were not laid quite straight. “Set that dish a little more to the left, Louisa,” she ordered. “Bring in the rest of the dinner, and then call Mr. Brown.” She looked at her nieces critically. “I wish you would try to smooth your hair a little, Alison,” she said. “Your uncle dislikes to see a frowsy head.”