"Well, now that you have escaped, come in here," said Mrs. Wentworth, laughing. "I want a friend of mine to know you--a young man--" "A gentleman!" "Yes; a young gentleman from--" "My dear!" exclaimed the other lady. "I am not fit to see a young gentleman--I haven't on my new cap. I really could not." "Oh, yes, you can. Come in. I want you to know him, too. He is--m--m--m--" This was too low for Keith to hear. The next second Mrs. Wentworth turned and reëntered the room, holding by the hand Keith's old lady of the train. As she laid her eyes on Keith, she stopped with a little shriek, shut both eyes tight, and clutched Mrs. Wentworth's arm. "My dear, it's my robber!" "It's what?" "My robber! He's the young man I told you of who was so suspiciously civil to me on the train. I can never look him in the face--never!" Saying which, she opened her bright eyes and walked straight up to Keith, holding out her hand. "Confess that you are a robber and save me." Keith laughed and took her hand. "I know you took me for one." He turned to Mrs. Wentworth and described her making him count her bundles. "You will admit that gentlemen were much rarer on that train than ruffians or those who looked like ruffians?" insisted the old lady, gayly. "I came through the car, and not one soul offered me a seat. You deserve all the abuse you got for being so hopelessly unfashionable as to offer any civility to a poor, lonely, ugly old woman." "Abby, Mr. Keith does not yet know who you are. Mr. Keith, this is my cousin, Miss Brooke." "Miss Abigail Brooke, spinster," dropping him a quaint little curtsy. So this was little Lois's old aunt, Dr. Balsam's sweetheart--the girl who had made him a wanderer; and she was possibly the St. Abigail of whom Alice Yorke used to speak! The old lady turned to Mrs. Wentworth. "He is losing his manners; see how he is staring. What did I tell you? One week in New York is warranted to break any gentleman of good manners." "Oh, not so bad as that," said Mrs. Wentworth. "Now you sit down there and get acquainted with each other." So Keith sat down by Miss Brooke, and she was soon telling him of her niece, who, she said, was always talking of him and his father. "Is she as pretty as she was as a child?" Keith asked. "Yes--much too pretty; and she knows it, too," smiled the old lady. "I have to hold her in with a strong hand, I tell you. She has got her head full of boys already."