Liebchen was quiet; she did not even cry, but she looked tragic as she bade Beth good-bye and presented her with wristlets of her own knitting. “I’ll walk where you go, if you don’t come back,” she said. “You got me cured to walk, and I’ll walk there, but I’ll see you again.” Beth found this touching. She promised Liebchen faithfully that she would return. She then made “her international relations peaceful,” as Uncle Jim said, by putting on the gay contadina’s apron and the wristlets, in spite of the delicacy of her white frock. Beth served her guests with cream and cake, Natalie played and so did Aunt Alida, and everybody sang. When Mr. Cortlandt insisted upon it, Tim danced his Irish breakdown with the greatest humor and flexibility, ending with a toss in the air of an imaginary cap and a shout of “Erin go bragh” that sent Dirk into ecstasy. That night Aunt Alida and Uncle Jim had no engagement, for the household was to rise at the unusual hour of half-past six, for the travelers to be off before nine. Frieda dressed Beth for the last time, at least for a good while. It was a sober and dewy face that looked back at Beth from the glass, as she sat before it, having her hair braided tight for the drive, and behind her chair Frieda bent over her, braiding and dropping tears on the fair hair. Beth did not speak, neither did Frieda. Both understood that the little lady and her maid were too saddened by parting to speak of it. When her toilet was made, hair tucked away under the dearest little automobile bonnet that could be devised for such a face as Beth’s, a close little affair of white straw with a flat blue bow on its top and small pink rosebuds all around the inside of the edge, Frieda put on Beth a long coat of blue, gauntlet gloves, a white veil that was sure to flow out gracefully into everybody else’s face. Then Beth stood in the middle of her beloved room and let her eyes travel from one object to another in it, taking detailed farewell of its perfections. Such a beautiful room, so homelike, yet so elegant! And she was giving it up! Beth choked, but remembered that Aunt Rebecca was pining. She turned to Frieda and threw her arms around her vehemently. “Good-bye, good-bye, you dear, nice Frieda! I’m sorry if I ever bothered you. You’ve been so nice I’ve even liked having a maid, though I’d never have believed I could have borne it. Good-bye!” “Good-bye, my darling little Miss Beth,” sobbed Frieda. “You’ve never been anything like a bother to me; just a pleasure to wait on you, it is. Come back, and don’t let any one else be your maid when you come.” “Oh, mercy me, no!” cried Beth, hurrying away before she should feel that she could not go from her room and Frieda.