From a family in Silverton, who had spent a few days at a private house in Newport, Helen had heard something of her sister’s life; the lady had seen her once driving a tandem team down the avenue, with Wilford at her side giving her instructions. Since then there had been some anxiety felt for her at the farm-house, and more than Dr. Grant had prayed that she might be kept unspotted from the world; but when her letter came, so full of love and self-reproaches, the burden was lifted, and there was nothing to mar the anticipations of the event for which they had made so many preparations, Uncle Ephraim going to the expense of buying at auction a half-worn covered buggy, which he fancied would suit Katy better than the corn-colored wagon in which she used to ride. To pay for this the deacon had parted with the money set aside for the “_great coat_” he so much needed for the coming winter, his old gray having done him service for fifteen years. But his comfort was nothing compared with Katy’s happiness, and so, with his wrinkled face beaming with delight, he had brought home his buggy, putting it carefully in the barn, and saying no one should ride in it till Katy came. With untiring patience the old man mended up his harness, for what he had heard of Katy’s driving had impressed him strongly with her powers of horsemanship, and raised her somewhat in his respect. Could he have afforded it Uncle Ephraim in his younger days would have been a horse jockey, and even now he liked nothing better than to make Old Whitey run when alone in the strip of woods between his house and the head of the pond. “Katy inherits her love of horses from me,” he said complacently; and with a view of improving Whitey’s style and mettle, he took to feeding him on oats, talking to him at times, and telling him who was coming. Dear, simple-hearted Uncle Ephraim! the days which he must wait seemed long to him as they did to the other members of his family. But they were all gone now,—Katy would be home on the morrow, and with the shutting in of night the candles were lighted in the sitting-room, and Helen sat down to her work, wishing it was to-night that Katy was coming. As if in answer to her wish there was the sound of wheels, which stopped before the house, and dropping her work Helen ran quickly to the door, just as from under the dripping umbrella held by a driver boy, a tall young man sprang upon the step, nearly upsetting her, but passing an arm around her shoulders in time to keep her from falling. “I beg pardon for this assault upon you,” the stranger said; and then turning to the boy he continued: “It’s all right, you need not wait.”