“’Clare to goodness,” chuckled Mortality, “that fancy miss ac’s lack she’d done come to stay. An she don’t appear to have no folks neither.” “She must have come to the wrong house,” Harriot whispered. She had watched the proceedings of the stranger with increasing interest. There were no congenial girls of her own age living near, and her cousin Corinne was too grown-up to have any fun with these days. Harriot would have been glad to find a playmate; but she shook her head, being certain that this calm young stranger had made a mistake. No such guest was expected, that she knew. “Mother and April are away, so I reckon I’d better tell her,” she went on half to herself, and, stepping out briskly from behind the shrubbery, she hurried toward the house, followed by Mortality. “This is Mr. Henry May’s house,” Harriot began at once. “Colonel Henry May, you know. He’s my father, but of course he’s with the army.” She paused a moment, but no answer being forthcoming she continued rather breathlessly: “Mrs. Gordon May’s place is over on the Abbeville road. Perhaps they are the ones you’re looking for—or maybe the Beaumont Mays, though they’re no kin to us and are living in Augusta now.” Again she paused, but the only response was a widening of the girl’s smile, and Harriot grew slightly embarrassed; but she noted the well-made and rather fashionable clothes of this silent stranger and her regret continued to deepen. “It’s a pity that man drove off so fast,” she went on, feeling that some one must talk. “Our horses have mostly been pressed, and I don’t know what I’ll find to send you away in, ’specially as mother and April are at the Ladies’ Aid meeting, sewing for the soldiers. But of course I’m ’bliged to find something.” “’Deed, Miss Harry, ’tain’t no use talkin’,” Mortality half whispered. “Don’t you-all see she’s one of ’em dumbies?” At this the strange girl laughed outright, a bright, cheerful laugh that set Harriot to smiling too. “Really I’m not dumb,” the visitor said with a chuckle. “I’ve just been wondering what happened to all my letters. I wrote weeks ago that I was coming.” “Oh, you did?” Harriot replied vaguely. “Well, of course, now-a-days letters never go where you expect them to.” The other nodded calmly, and Harriot regarded her with increasing admiration. She was so cool and self-possessed. “At any rate, I’m here now!” the girl on the trunk remarked philosophically. “It’s too late to help that, isn’t it? But, if I’m in the way, I can go back to New York, can’t I? Though it’ll probably be no end of trouble.” “To New York!” Harriot exclaimed incredulously. “Did you run the blockade?” “No,” the other answered rather regretfully. “I wanted to—it would be a fine adventure, wouldn’t it?—but I wasn’t allowed. Papa wished me to travel by land, so they sent me down under a flag of truce. This is your mother coming in, isn’t it?”