"Yes, ma'am." It was the younger one who replied. As she did so she came over and sat by Mary. "I judge, from what I heard your little girl asking you, that you are going beyond Jackson." "I'm going to New Orleans." "Do you live there?" The lady's interest seemed genuine and kind. "Yes. I am going to join my husband there." Mary saw by the reflection in the lady's face that a sudden gladness must have overspread her own. "He'll be mighty glad, I'm sure," said the pleasant stranger, patting Alice's cheek, and looking, with a pretty fellow-feeling, first into the child's face and then into Mary's. "Yes, he will," said Mary, looking down upon the curling locks at her elbow with a mother's happiness. "Is he in the army?" asked the lady. Mary's face fell. "His health is bad," she replied. "I know some nice people down in New Orleans," said the lady again. "We haven't many acquaintances," rejoined Mary, with a timidity that was almost trepidation. Her eyes dropped, and she began softly to smooth Alice's collar and hair. "I didn't know," said the lady, "but you might know some of them. For instance, there's Dr. Sevier." Mary gave a start and smiled. "Why, is he your friend too?" she asked. She looked up into the lady's quiet, brown eyes and down again into her own lap, where her hands had suddenly knit together, and then again into the lady's face. "We have no friend like Dr. Sevier." "Mother," called the lady softly, and beckoned. The senior lady leaned toward her. "Mother, this lady is from New Orleans and is an intimate friend of Dr. Sevier." The mother was pleased. "What might one call your name?" she asked, taking a seat behind Mary and continuing to show her pleasure. "Richling." The mother and daughter looked at each other. They had never heard the name before. Yet only a little while later the mother was saying to Mary,--they were expecting at any moment to hear the whistle for the terminus of the route, the central Mississippi town of Canton:-- "My dear child, no! I couldn't sleep to-night if I thought you was all alone in one o' them old hotels in Canton. No, you must come home with us. We're barely two mile' from town, and we'll have the carriage ready for you bright and early in the morning, and our coachman will put you on the cars just as nice--Trouble?" She laughed at the idea. "No; I tell you what would trouble me,--that is, if we'd allow it; that'd be for you to stop in one o' them hotels all alone, child, and like' as not some careless servant not wake you in time for the cars to-morrow." At this word she saw capitulation in Mary's eyes. "Come, now, my child, we're not going to take no for an answer." Nor did they.