Miss Barry, rousing from practical thoughts of her home and housekeeping, or waking from a nap, usually saw her niece poring over letters, and occasionally it was Bertram King's that she held in her hands. Once when this was the case Miss Belinda held out a metal box. "Try some of this ginger," she said. "Coals to Newcastle! Did you ever? Isn't Mr. King the impudent one?" Linda leaned politely toward the confection, then drew back again. "Don't waste it on me, Aunt Belinda. I don't seem to care for sweets." "Well, I hope Mrs. Porter will. I can't eat all these things alone," replied Miss Barry, casting a glance toward the varied boxes. At the same time she let that eagle glance come back to her niece. "I hope you're going to remember," she said impressively, "that that fine man to whom we owe so much is related to Mrs. Porter." "What?" asked the girl absent-mindedly. "Oh," suddenly gathering her aunt's meaning. "Yes, certainly." Miss Barry sniffed. "Linda," she said, "I don't know but I'd ought to go and dig up your grandmother's slipper!" The girl smiled, and the older woman shook her head. "She is a handsome thing," she thought. Mrs. Porter thought so too when she met them in Portland. In spite of the change wrought in her pupil's appearance during the last month she reflected how beauty at twenty-one will be beauty still. "There's no place like home!" exclaimed Miss Barry, as she accepted Mrs. Porter's embrace. "I'm aching for one look at the ocean." "Isn't she saucy to our grand lake?" asked Mrs. Porter, putting her hand through Linda's arm, and leading the way to the motor waiting outside. "What does this mean?" asked Miss Barry. "The train's good enough for us." "No, it's such a beautiful afternoon. It will rest you both to motor home," said Mrs. Porter. She supported Linda's arm, noting the feebleness of the girl's movements. The two black-clothed women entered the car, the porter put in their suit-cases, Mrs. Porter jumped in, and they started. As yet Linda had scarcely spoken. It was curious to her to see her teacher thus, off duty, wearing an outing hat and corduroy. She, who had always been surrounded with a wall of delicate formality which no pupil save herself had ever had the audacity to break down, now smiling, tanned and rosy, girlish in her soft white hat, seemed another identity. Linda regarded her teacher gravely, while the latter responded cheerfully to Miss Barry's questions. The sun shone, the breeze was crisp. As they emerged into the suburbs and countryside, all the joyousness of June smote upon the travelers' tired senses. Linda turned her wistful eyes away when Mrs. Porter met them, a reassuring strength in her regard. "Jerry was so disappointed when I told him he needn't come to the station for us," she said. "All your neighbors are excited over your home-coming." "H'm," sniffed Miss Barry in a one-sided smile. "Luella accommodatin' any boarders?" "Yes, a mother and daughter from New York."