“Beth, Beth, do you want to go back? You seem impatient to start!” cried Natalie. Her mother gave her a quick glance, and Beth’s eyes filled with tears. “Oh, Natalie, don’t you know how beautiful I knew Cortmeer would be and the sea? And--don’t I love you?” Beth cried. She did not say, loyal little soul that she was, that life in her old home was utterly different from the life of luxury and beauty surrounding her here. Beth would not have been a human child to have felt no pang in giving up her room, the perfect service, the drives in carriages and cars, all the delights which her uncle’s wealth poured upon her. Going back meant leaving fairy-land, in which Beth had dwelt blissfully all winter, for the real life of simplest realities which had been hers. And, as she said, she loved these new-found relatives with all her loving heart. Aunt Alida came to her rescue. “Do you know, Jim,” she said to her husband, who sat regarding Beth thoughtfully, without speaking, “do you know that I think Beth is entirely right to go? I want her very much; she knows that, but I think she is right, in the highest kind of right, to choose to sacrifice herself for the one who has taken care of her all her life. And I know quite well that it is a hard sacrifice to make. But Beth would not be happy if she went to Cortmeer after this. We will help her to make the sacrifice; not make it harder by our protests. We will pack her off in the Pullman car, and Trump in the express for small ponies, and send her on her way, if not precisely rejoicing, yet happy in the knowledge that she has done a hard thing and a dear, sweet sort of right thing, and that she is going to make an old lady very, very glad by choosing her instead of us. For a time, though, Bethie! Remember you are coming back to us, and another time we shall try to arrange for no more partings!” Aunt Alida smiled at the little girl, with a warm light in her glorious dark eyes, and Beth smiled back at her bravely, in spite of the tears on her flushed cheeks. These two understood each other. Beth wondered how she should ever bear not seeing that beautiful face, how she should ever be able to wait to hear again that gracious voice, which had come to represent to her the sweetest music in the world, the expression of truest womanhood. “We’ll do better than you propose, Alida,” said Uncle Jim, while the Cortlandt children sat silent, aghast at this unexpected and adverse settlement of the discussion. “We will ship Trump, as you say, but we will take Beth back ourselves, in our big touring car, and leave her on Miss Bristead’s door-steps--like a foundling!” “Oh, Uncle Jim!” cried Beth as usual. And so, swiftly, suddenly, it was settled. Beth was going back. Her Wonder-Winter was over and no Wonder-Summer was to follow it, this year, at least.