She had been at home about two weeks when he began to drive over to the nearest depot every day at "train time." It was about three miles distant, and he went over for several days in his spring wagon. At first he said nothing of his reason for making the journey, but one morning, as he stood at his horses' heads, he said to Louisiana, without turning to look at her, and affecting to be very busy with some portion of the harness: "I've ben expectin' of some things fer a day or so, an' they haint come. I wasn't sure when I oughter to look fer 'em--mebbe I've ben lookin' too soon--fer they haint come yet." "Where were they to come from?" she asked. "From--from New York City." "From New York?" she echoed, trying to show an interest. "I did not know you sent there, father." "I haint never done it afore," he answered. "These yere things--mebbe they'll come to-day, an' then ye'll see 'em." She asked no further questions, fancying that he had been buying some adornments for the new rooms which were to be a surprise for her. After he had gone away she thought a little sadly of his kindness to her, and her unworthiness of it. At noon he came back and brought his prize with him. He drove up slowly with it behind him in the wagon--a large, shining, new trunk--quite as big and ponderous as any she had seen at the Springs. He got down and came up to her as she stood on the porch. He put his hand on her shoulder. "I'll hev 'em took in an' ye kin look at 'em," he said. "It's some new things ye was a-needin'." She began to guess dimly at what he meant, but she followed the trunk into the house without speaking. When they set it down she stood near while her father fumbled for the key and found it, turned it in the lock and threw back the lid. "They're some things ye was a-needin'," he said. "I hope ye'll like 'em, honey." She did not know what it was in his voice, or his face, or his simple manner that moved her so, but she did not look at what he had brought at all--she ran to him and caught his arm, dropped her face on it, and burst into tears. "Father--father!" she cried. "Oh, father!" "Look at 'em, Louisianny," he persisted, gently, "an' see if they suit ye. Thar aint no reason to cry, honey." The words checked her and made her feel uncertain and bewildered again. She stopped crying and looked up at him, wondering if her emotion troubled him, but he did not meet her eye, and only seemed anxious that she should see what he had brought.