Days passed, and yet no sign of Mr. West, and Mrs. Harper was becoming a little impatient and irritable. Could he mean to disappear for a second time? What was she to think? Meanwhile Madeline wrote to the farm daily, posting the letters herself. Here is one of them as a specimen:-- “MY DEAR LAURENCE, “No news yet. So glad to get your letters. I call for them every day. It looks funny to see nothing but W. on the envelope, but it would never do to put West, much less Wynne. It makes me very happy to hear that you and baby are getting on so well and are making the best of this lovely weather. How I wish I was back with you--ten--fifty times a day--strolling about the lanes and fields among the lambs and primroses, instead of being cooped up here, in this hot, dusty suburb. You must not do too much! How dare you walk to the top of Brownwood Hill! It is just four times too far. How could the Holts allow you to be so foolish? But I’m afraid you don’t mind _them_. You ask what _I_ am doing? I am trying hard to make believe that I am Madeline West once more. Don’t be shocked, my dear Laurence, but at times I succeed admirably, especially when I sit down to an hour’s practising on the schoolroom piano. I am getting up my music and singing again, and working very hard, so that my father won’t be disappointed as far as my voice is concerned. I have looked over the new books that the girls had last half in the first class--horrible essays and lectures and scientific articles--about the glacial periods, and shooting stars, such as I abhor, and _you_ love; but I know that I ought to read up, for I am a shameful ignoramus. I, however, enjoy rubbing up my French, and have devoured several most delicious books by Gyp. Miss Harper lent them to me. She said, now that I had left school, I might read them. I asked her--just to see how she would look--if she had any of Émile Zola’s. I had heard so much of them. She nearly fainted, and said, ‘My dear, you must never even mention that man’s _name_!’ I have learnt to dress my hair in the new style. I’ve gone shopping with Miss Harper. Altogether I’ve been very busy, and when I sit in my old place at meal-times, and stare at the familiar wall-paper, and familiar cups and saucers, and when I listen to the Harpers’ well-known little sayings and turns of speech, when I look out of the windows, or sit alone in the schoolroom, as I used formerly to do in holiday times, I honestly declare that I feel as if all about you was a dream, and that I cannot bring myself to realize that I have ever left school at all. You see I am naturally a very adaptable creature; I drop into a groove at once, and accommodate myself to circumstances. For instance, Mr. Holt said I was born to be a farmer’s wife! I have lived here for so many, many years that I fall straight back into my old place. Then I rouse up and go off to the post-office, when