"Evangeline!" again cried Miss Theodosia, this time in a startled voice. Fears beset her. Was it the mother, or had poor Aunt Sarah raveled out? How could it have happened so suddenly--a bolt out of the clear little Flagg skies? "It's you," Evangeline said. Miss Theodosia settled a little in her chair and waited. In time--Evangeline's time--she would know. Elly Precious held out his rigid little mourning arm and softly whimpered. "Give him to me, Stefana; he wants to come to me," Miss Theodosia said, extending welcoming hands. Very gently she relieved the tension of the small arm. "We're in mournin' for you," Evangeline explained sadly. "_He_ said we might as well make up our minds, I tied a stockin' round his arm, but he took it off again because he said he didn't wear his stockin's--no, I guess it wasn't his stockin's; it was his heart--on his sleeves. But he said he was in mournin', too." Miss Theodosia gave it up. She appealed to Stefana in gentle despair. "You tell me, dear. What does she mean?" "We're so sorry you are going to Japan, and Evangeline said we ought to go into mourning, so we went," explained the quiet Stefana. "She cried; you know you did, Stefana Flagg! I would've, only I was gettin' the mournin' ready. I'm _goin_' to." "Don't cry!" Miss Theodosia said, though she was doing it herself. The pulling of her heartstrings! "Don't cry, Evangeline dear. I wish we could take back Stefana's tears." "You mean--you ain't goin'?" "I ain't goin'," repeated Miss Theodosia, tremulously smiling. "Japan! I wouldn't go to _six_ Japans!" "Then take it off o' our arms, quick! You take off Carruthers', Stefana. I'll undo Elly Precious's. Oh, goody! Oh, mercy gracious, I feel 's if we ought to take hold o' hands an'--an' _wave_!" At the end of her letter to Cornelia Dunlap Miss Theodosia wrote: "You can't tempt me with all your cherry blossoms. I've got home, Cornelia, and all my little Flaggs are waving. Come and see _my_ Flaggs." * * * * * It was mid-September and Miss Theodosia found out-of-doors a pleasant place to be. She had made an errand down to the business portion of the little town for the sheer pleasure of the going and coming,--a morning errand, as the afternoons were sacred to tea,--and now was coming leisurely back, sniffing the sun-sweet air. She turned off the quiet, side street she had been using as a long way home, into the main street of the town, only to find her progress interrupted by unseemly and noisy crowds. Miss Theodosia loved all things seemly and quiet. How she despised a crowd, and this one--she brought up short in actual disgust on the outer edge of it. Thus was her stately little progress stayed. People surged about her and jostled her good-naturedly. She was in the crowd. "What is it? Has there been an accident?" she inquired of the nearest jostler. It was a ragged and radiant child.