The foothills seemed a vast, undulating semicircle. One bold knob higher than the rest, with precipitous sides patched with pines, stood out with more importance; but it lacked their allurement of tender colouring. Straight into the heart of the range, the railroad cut its way, and a long, creeping freight train trailed by just as they turned to follow the track. A shower of cinders deluged Mallie and Lalla; they wheeled and walked backward until Gincy and Kizzie caught up. Nancy Jane panted close behind. “I’ve got a monster in my eye!” moaned Mallie, plucking at the offender. Her efforts were vain, and each girl, in turn, was rewarded in the same way. Urilla and Miss Howard, far in the rear, were talking too earnestly to make much progress, or notice the group ahead. “I’m so glad your mother’s better,” the teacher was saying. “I know you want to stay, and we can’t spare such girls as you very well.” Urilla’s face beamed. “Oh, Miss Howard, do you really mean it? I feel that I’m improving, I was so stupid at first—now I can see through things better. Gincy’s helped me, she’s always saying something nice and encouraging.” “Gincy’s a treasure!” said Miss Howard warmly. “But where are the girls, they were on the track a minute ago?” Another train thundered by. “I wish they wouldn’t keep so far ahead, that’s the 3:15, and it goes like lightning when it’s making up time,” Urilla remarked uneasily. They hurried along, scanning each clump of bushes and stack of grain, but no one was visible. “They couldn’t have gone in here!” exclaimed Miss Howard, looking at a little weather beaten cabin very near the track. Then she listened. Yes, there were voices that sounded familiar. Through the half-open door, the two caught glimpses of Gincy’s bright skirt and gay hat. “I wonder what they’re doing, and why we didn’t see them when they turned off the track,” said Urilla as they opened a rickety gate and went into the yard. “What a dreadful place to live!” Miss Howard agreed as she looked at the forlorn and desolate little cabin with not one home-like feature; even the yard was bare and wind-swept. “Why, there’s Talitha!” “What?” The two pushed up eagerly. “Mrs. Donnelly told me this morning she had gone to see some of her kinfolk, but I didn’t know they lived here,” said Urilla, looking curiously at the bare little cabin. Standing just inside the door, the missing girls were talking to Talitha, who, with her dress pinned up around her and a towel over her head, was busy cleaning. Three small children played near the fireplace, and beyond, propped upon an old pillow, her bright eyes watching the newcomer, was the tiniest woman they had ever seen. “Have you had measles?” asked Talitha, waving her broom at them. “If you haven’t, stay out.” “Of course,” answered Urilla scornfully, “years ago; but I don’t see any.” Another wave directed them to a small bed near a darkened window. Two flushed faces peered above a ragged quilt.