THE stage came for Matilda at eight o'clock. For half an hour before it could possibly be due, the traveler sat ready on a chair in the hall, with her umbrella tightly gripped in both hands, delivering bits of useful information as they occurred to her. "Be careful to lock up well every night." "Remember if she dies sudden, I shall want to know at once." "Don't look to enjoy yourself, but remember you're doin' a act of Christian charity." Jane sat on a small, hard ottoman in the corner by the whatnot and said: "I'll try," or "Yes, indeed," every time. "You're a good girl," the aunt said finally. "I'm glad to know you. Those Rainy-day Cooks or whatever you call yourself--" "Sunshine Nurse." "Yes, of course,--well, it's a good idea. I feel perfectly sure you'll do everything you know how." "Yes, I will," said Jane, resolving all over fresh that everything was going to come out fine, even to the return of Matilda herself. "There, I hear the stage on the bridge," said her aunt, jumping to her feet suddenly. "I must go and say good-by to Susan." "Isn't she still asleep?" "It doesn't matter. She's my only living sister, and it's my duty to wake her up." She rushed up-stairs, and a feeble little yell from above soon announced her duty done. Then followed a brief hum and jabber, and then she came running down again. "Feels bad to see me go," she said briefly. "That's natural, as she's turned over to you body and soul and ain't the least idea what you're like. I told her it was no more chances than every child run just being born, and a third of them lived, but she never could see reason,--kind of clung to my arm,--she's my only sister, and it makes me feel bad." With which hasty statement Matilda gave a brief dab to each eye, put up her pocket-handkerchief, and opened the front door. Jane had her bag in her hand, and they had carried the trunk to the gate before. The stage was empty, and the driver was tying the trunk-strap with a rope. "Well, good-by," said Matilda; "remember to lock up well every night." "Yes, I will," said Jane. "I hope you'll have a good time and a splendid change." "I'm sure of the change," said Matilda, swinging herself up with an agility bred of her liberal diet on stiles. "Five years,--will you only think of it?" The driver picked up the reins, gave them a slap, and the expedition was off. Matilda Drew was really "gone off on a visit." "Think of it," said Katie Croft, who, despite her town-name of "Katie," was a gray-haired woman of fifty. "Think of it! A vacation! What luck some folks have. I shall never have a vacation in all--" her voice ceased, and she continued sweeping down the steps, the stage passing out of sight as she did so. Meanwhile Jane had re-entered the house and carefully closed the door after her. She felt curiously freed in spirit, and that subtly supreme joy of seeing a helplessly bad situation delivered bound and gagged into one's hands to be mended was hers.