During the five minutes' rest accorded this hotel orchestra these girls chatted like magpies with the travelers, and sent messages to the other members of the family, and said they hoped to get out to the melon farm some day during the summer, and warned Oisette that she must practice well on the piano, so that she might some day play another duet with her friend. Then the leader tapped his baton and the voices ceased. But the cousin whispered to Monsieur Tremblent: "We are going to play 'The Rosary' now. You'll hear it as you go down in the elevator." When the-round-the-mountain car stopped at Cote-des-Neiges that night, Monsieur Tremblent and his little daughter alighted in the dusk. They planned to surprise the household. By crossing a meadow they approached the house from the rear, and thought it would be great fun to slip into the kitchen in the darkness and leave their parcels, and then perhaps take off their wraps. Oisette wondered if she might manage to be discovered playing the piano. The French Canadian loves a practical joke. But it happened that some one in a motor car passed the trolley in which the returned travelers were journeying and the motor stopped at the Tremblent farm about ten minutes before the car was due, and, of course, the visitors said whom they had seen. So Madame Tremblent was ready with every room lighted, and doors open, and Carleau was barking his head off with excitement. The Dudley children were tearing up the road, calling out, "Welcome home!" On the stove was a big pot of pea soup very hot, and on the table a big bunch of field daisies, which the Dudleys had brought early in the day. The big parlor lamp with its red shade was lighted, which meant that it was a very special occasion. Everybody gazed in surprise at Oisette. She certainly had grown a little taller, and she had a nice little manner, which quite unconsciously she had acquired from her grandmother. She forgot her shyness and told them everything; from the time she had left home until to-night when she had dined at the Place Viger. No pea soup to-night, thank you! When at last she went to bed she gazed about her own room with a new interest. The room seemed smaller than she had thought it before, but her pictures were so pretty. Nowhere had she seen anything she liked as well as her Joan of Arc banner wrought in silk. And there was her own bedspread again, "the music of the spheres," placed there in honor of her return. "Chime, chime, chime, chime," rang the church bell next morning. This was the bell that had awakened our little Quebec cousin since her birth. It sounded like an old friend, but what a funny, feeble little bell it was after the great tongues of the Quebec bells to which her ears had become attuned.