“It’s queer, isn’t it?” said Azalea softly. “It’s very queer. I know this: I’ll have you for my kin as long as I live. You see I’ve no real kin, so we’ll be pretend kin.” “Cousins!” cried Mrs. Barbara. “Make it cousins!” “Cousins!” cried Azalea in turn. And they smiled at each other from across the bed that they were making together. So Haystack Thompson, still somewhat troubled and flustered, came back to find his charge as happy as a bird. And it was arranged that they should take the train for Lee that afternoon. “You’re to wear the things you have on, Azalea,” said Mrs. Summers. “And my blue sunshade, and you can send them back to me when you get ready. I’ve ten times as many clothes as I have any occasion to wear here.” But there were still several hours that these so sudden friends could spend together; so Azalea was shown the garden and the chickens and the cow and the one lazy white horse, and she was present when Jonathan awoke. She saw him dewy from his sleep, and thought him lovelier than ever. So it was not quite easy to say goodbye when the time came. But it was agreed that Mrs. Summers was to write to Azalea and that Azalea was to answer, and that they were to address each other as “My dear Cousin.” The four o’clock train bore Haystack Thompson and Azalea away from the little huddled town and up through the purple mountains, and dropped them, after hours of unexpected delay, down into the village of Lee. CHAPTER XII MA SAYS NO Ma McBirney, sitting sad-eyed at the edge of the mountain plateau on which her cottage stood, was absently watching the road. She had no reason to suppose that anybody would be winding up that five-mile wagonway to see her, yet for some reason she could not fix her mind on her work that morning. Sitting there at the “Outlook,” she could see over the bright valley and catch the gleam of the sun on the river and on the distant dome of the county courthouse. About her the bees hummed, intent on their day’s work; and not far distant stood the buzzing village of hives which Thomas McBirney had placed where the Pride of India tree, the mimosas and catalpas, the trumpet flower and wild honeysuckle could feed them. Mary McBirney loved the song of the bees; she loved the bright valley; she loved her home and most of all she loved those within it. Yet to-day the heart in her was heavy. A sorrow less black yet somehow more disheartening than that which had engulfed her at the time of her Molly’s death, rested upon her heart. When Molly had died, it was as if the tragic blackness of night had come upon her. Yet amid this murk there came shining the morning star of hope. And afterward there came the full and beautiful dawn of perfect trust. She believed that in the Time to Come she and Molly would stand together, spirit to spirit, and that there would be no more separation.