Surprise acted as a tonic when the two ladies entered, followed by Murray. A glance at Margaret’s face stirred memories in Mary. She stammered: "Why—why—I know—who—" Murray supplied the name: "It is Miss McAllister, Mrs. Cassidy." "Why, of co’se," said Mary; "I ’d know Miss McAllister anywhere; she favors Frenchy like she was his own daughter." "Did you know Uncle John?" asked Margaret, breathlessly. "Yes, indeedy. I took to him first sight," and Mary smiled at the girl’s eagerness. "Aunt Jessie! Isn’t that just glorious? Mrs. Cassidy, this is my aunt, Mrs. Blake—and I want you to tell me everything you can remember about Uncle John." "Now you have done it," declared Mrs. Blake. "You will get no peace from Margaret while she thinks there is a wag of your tongue left about her Uncle John." "Margaret—that’s a right sweet name. But I ’m afraid Billy would insist—" she flushed a dull red as Mrs. Blake sharply addressed Murray: "Ralph, see that some one gets those trunks in, will you? That is, if they did not drop off into the bosom of this blessed wilderness, somewhere _en route_." "They did n’t. But it’s all Montana to an incubator Jake took them to the stable," and Murray promptly vanished. "Certainly he would insist," agreed Mrs. Blake, resuming the thread of Mary’s unconscious soliloquy. "And quite right, too. It would have to be—what did you say your name is, my dear?" "Mary "—the shy smile made her seem very unlike the self-reliant H2 girl. Mrs. Blake took her in her arms and mothered her. "Mary is every bit as sweet as Margaret," she declared. "And now you must came over here and sit down. That is six for me and a half dozen for myself. _How_ I shall rejoice to land in a seat that neither shakes nor bumps!" "I shore begs you-all ’s pardon; but I ain’t got over my surprise yet." "Shall we put you to very much trouble, Mrs. Cassidy?" asked Margaret. "Perhaps if you get that lazy Murray to help—" "Why, Murray ain’t lazy. There ain’t none of the boys lazy, ’cept maybe Jake. An’ it’s shore a pleasure to have you here." "May heaven forgive my vegatative emotion in the cessation of motion," and Mrs. Blake carefully refrained from moving her foot forward one enticing inch: it was good enough as it was. "You ain’t use’ to travelling, Mrs. Blake," suggested Mary. "On the contrary, my dear," that lady assured her. "Mr. Blake hauled me over the entire country from the Mississippi to the Atlantic; but he never subjected me to the churning discomfort of a devil-drawn buckboard driven by a heartless madcap in petticoats." Mrs. Blake shifted the faintest imaginable distance to the left and back again immediately: the first position was the more comfortable, as she might have known. The two younger women exchanged a smile, Margaret’s a merry one, Mary’s more sober as she thought how easily the buckboard might have carried a load indifferent for all time, to jolts. "Did you see anything o’ th’ boys?" she asked.