Faster she glided; the engine passed from sight round a curve beyond a culvert, but for a moment longer they could see the little figure upon the steps--and, to the very last glimpse they had of her, the small, golden head was still nodding “Good-by!” Then those steps whereon she stood passed in their turn beneath the culvert, and they saw her no more. Lola Pratt was gone! Wet-eyed, her young hostess of the long summer turned away, and stumbled against William. “Why, Willie Baxter!” she cried, blinking at him. The last car of the train had rounded the curve and disappeared, but William was still waving farewell--not with his handkerchief, but with a symmetrical, one-pound parcel, wrapped in white tissue-paper, girdled with blue ribbon. “Never mind!” said May Parcher. “Let's all walk Up-town together, and talk about her on the way, and we'll go by the express-office, and you can send your candy to her by express, Willie.” XXX THE BRIDE-TO-BE In the smallish house which all summer long, from morning until late at night, had resounded with the voices of young people, echoing their songs, murmurous with their theories of love, or vibrating with their glee, sometimes shaking all over during their more boisterous moods--in that house, now comparatively so vacant, the proprietor stood and breathed deep breaths. “Hah!” he said, inhaling and exhaling the air profoundly. His wife was upon the porch, outside, sewing. The silence was deep. He seemed to listen to it--to listen with gusto; his face slowly broadening, a pinkish tint overspreading it. His flaccid cheeks appeared to fill, to grow firm again, a smile finally widening them. “HAH!” he breathed, sonorously. He gave himself several resounding slaps upon the chest, then went out to the porch and sat in a rocking-chair near his wife. He spread himself out expansively. “My Glory!” he said. “I believe I'll take off my coat! I haven't had my coat off, outside of my own room, all summer. I believe I'll take a vacation! By George, I believe I'll stay home this afternoon!” “That's nice,” said Mrs. Parcher. “Hah!” he said. “My Glory! I believe I'll take off my shoes!” And, meeting no objection, he proceeded to carry out this plan. “Hah-AH!” he said, and placed his stockinged feet upon the railing, where a number of vines, running upon strings, made a screen between the porch and the street. He lit a large cigar. “Well, well!” he said. “That tastes good! If this keeps on, I'll be in as good shape as I was last spring before you know it!” Leaning far back in the rocking-chair, his hands behind his head, he smoked with fervor; but suddenly he jumped in a way which showed that his nerves were far from normal. His feet came to the floor with a thump, he jerked the cigar out of his mouth, and turned a face of consternation upon his wife. “What's the matter?” “Suppose,” said Mr. Patcher, huskily--“suppose she missed her train.” Mrs. Parcher shook her head.