Two of her pupils had invited her to join them in a trip to the mountains, and she ran away from the great hotel to surprise her little mistress with a sight of her, so well and happy that Rose had no anxiety left on her account. Three delightful days they spent, roaming about together, talking as only girls can talk after a long separation, and enjoying one another like a pair of lovers. As if to make it quite perfect, by one of those remarkable coincidences which sometimes occur, Archie happened to run up for the Sunday; so Phebe had _her_ surprise, and Aunt Jessie and the telegraph kept their secret so well, no one ever knew what maternal machinations brought the happy accident to pass. Then Rose saw a very pretty, pastoral bit of love-making, and long after it was over, and Phebe gone one way, Archie another, the echo of sweet words seemed to linger in the air, tender ghosts to haunt the pine-grove, and even the big coffee-pot had a halo of romance about it; for its burnished sides reflected the soft glances the lovers interchanged, as one filled the other's cup at that last breakfast. Rose found these reminiscences more interesting than any novel she had read, and often beguiled her long leisure by planning a splendid future for her Phebe, as she trotted about after her baby in the lovely July weather. On one of the most perfect days, she sat under an old apple-tree on the slope behind the house where they used to play. Before her opened the wide intervale, dotted with hay-makers at their picturesque work. On the left, flowed the swift river fringed with graceful elms in their bravest greenery; on the right, rose the purple hills serene and grand; and overhead glowed the midsummer sky which glorified it all. Little Dulce tired of play, lay fast asleep in the nest she had made in one of the hay-cocks close by; and Rose leaned against the gnarled old tree, dreaming day-dreams with her work at her feet. Happy and absorbing fancies they seemed to be; for her face was beautifully tranquil, and she took no heed of the train which suddenly went speeding down the valley, leaving a white cloud behind. Its rumble concealed the sound of approaching steps, and her eyes never turned from the distant hills, till the abrupt appearance of a very sunburnt but smiling young man made her jump up, exclaiming joyfully,-- "Why Mac! where did you drop from?" "The top of Mount Washington. How do you do?" "Never better. Won't you go in? You must be tired after such a fall." "No, thank you; I've seen the old lady. She told me Aunt Jessie and the boy had gone to town, and that you were 'settin' round' in the old place; so I came on at once, and will take a lounge here, if you don't mind," answered Mac, unstrapping his knapsack, and taking a hay-cock as if it were a chair. Rose subsided into her former seat, surveying her cousin with much satisfaction, as she said,--