The other stood looking at the speaker in frowning perplexity. She was a serious-faced girl, and now when she frowned her black brows met sternly above her gray eyes. But she controlled any impulse she had to severity, and asked gently, “Shall I send Bella to you?” “Oh, no! I can’t make society out of a child the _whole_ time. I’ll just sit here till the barge comes in. I suppose it will be as _empty_ as a gourd, as usual.” She added, with a sick and weary negligence, “I don’t even know where Bella is. She’s run off, somewhere.” “It’s quite time she should be looked up, for tea. I’ll wander out that way and look for her.” She indicated the wilderness generally. “Thanks,” said Louise. She now gratefully drew her shawl up over her shoulders, and faced about on the bench so as to command an easy view of the arriving barge. The other met it on her way to the place in the woods where the children usually played, and found it as empty as her friend had foreboded. But the driver stopped his horses, and leaned out of the side of the wagon with a little package in his hand. He read the superscription, and then glanced consciously at the girl. “You’re Miss Breen, ain’t you?” “Yes,” she said, with lady-like sweetness and a sort of business-like alertness. “Well,” suggested the driver, “this is for Miss Grace Breen, _M. D._” “For me, thank you,” said the young lady. “I’m Dr. Breen.” She put out her hand for the little package from the homœopathic pharmacy in Boston; and the driver yielded it with a blush that reddened him to his hair. “Well,” he said slowly, staring at the handsome girl, who did not visibly share his embarrassment, “they _told_ me you was the _one;_ but I couldn’t seem to get it through me. I thought it must be the _old_ lady.” “My mother is _Mrs_. Breen,” the young lady briefly explained, and walked rapidly away, leaving the driver stuck in the heavy sand of Sea-Glimpse Avenue. “Why, _get_ up!” he shouted to his horses. “Goin’ to stay here all _day?_” He craned his neck round the side of the wagon for a sight of her. “Well, dumm ’f I don’t wish _I_ was sick! Steps along,” he mused, watching the swirl and ripple of her skirt, “like—_I_ dunno what.”