"How indeed!" echoed Nora. "Oh, how good it is to have it back!" she exclaimed, fondling the brooch as though it had life and could feel. "But where did you find it, and why--Ah! I see," she added, as she turned it in her hand--"you dear, good folks--and here it was only this morning I thought the Lord had clean forgot 't was my birthday." I wish I could recall on paper the little foreign accent of the Scotch girl which seemed to add so much to the charm of her simple speech. Her big drooping eyes were wet with tears, and the little homesick note in her voice made an irresistible appeal to the hearts of those who heard it,--at least it did to mine, and I sneaked away behind the lid of the grand piano, which was open, to get out my pocket handkerchief, for I did not choose to make a spectacle of myself, and I don't know how to cry prettily, like Nora Costello. My nose gets red, and my eyes look as if I were addicted to the use of intoxicating liquors. When I emerged from behind the screen of the piano, I saw Philip Brady standing over Nora Costello, and looking down at her in a way that made my heart jump. She is a sweet girl, and a good girl, and a beautiful girl; but really this wouldn't do at all. Fancy Cousin John's son going round with a drum, keeping company with a tambourine. Shades of Dr. Charming forbid! Now why couldn't it have been Mr. Flint? That would have been poetic justice. Conversion of an atheist--marriage on the platform in presence of the Army. She is too good for him; but still I would have given my blessing--but here everything is snarled up and getting worse all the time. The surprises of the evening were not over yet, for the most remarkable remains to tell. While we were all sitting at table (Winifred did look startlingly handsome under the pink candle-shades) the bell rang, and a messenger boy appeared. Could he not leave the package? Professor Anstice asked, when he had signed the ticket the boy took out of his hat, where for some inscrutable reason New York messengers carry everything. No, he was ordered to give it to Miss Anstice herself. "Very well," said Winifred, "bring it in by all means. Perhaps some one has mixed things a little, and fancies that it is _my_ birthday that we are celebrating." So in came the package, and with it a great bunch of violets, and a card which said, "The little girl at the corner sends you these." I saw Winifred's hands tremble as she untied the ends of the package. The wrappings fell off and she saw a picture. "What--who is it?" Winifred asked, turning from one to another of us with bewilderment in her eyes. "A relative of yours, I believe," Mr. Flint answered quietly. "Her name is Ruth. She formed the habit of eloping in her youth, and had not the heart to refuse my entreaties to run away with me when I left Nepaug."