As for Elliott, she felt as though she had come out from underneath a great dark cloud, into a place where she could never again be anything but good and happy. She had been coming out ever since Aunt Jessica reached home, but she hadn't come out the same as she went in. The Elliott Aunt Jessica and Laura had left in charge when they went to Camp Devens seemed very, very far away from the Elliott whose joy was like wings that fairly lifted her feet off the ground. Smiles chased one another among her dimples in ceaseless procession across her face. She didn't try to discover why she felt so different. She didn't care. The dimples, of course, were the very same dimples she had always had, and at the moment the girl was entirely unconscious of their existence, though as a matter of fact those dimples had never been busier and more bewitching in all Elliott Cameron's life. "I suppose," Mother Jess said at last, "we shall have to go to bed, if we are to get Stannard off in the morning." Going to bed isn't a very exciting thing to do when you are so happy you feel as though you might burst with joy, but by that time the Camerons had managed to work out of the most dangerous stage, and inasmuch as Stannard's was an early train, going to bed was the only sensible thing to do. So they did it. What was more remarkable, the last sleepy Cameron straggled down to the breakfast-table before the little car ran up to the door to take Stannard away. They were really sorry to see him go and he acted as though he were just as sorry to go, which would seem to indicate that Stannard, too, had changed in the course of the summer. He looked much like the long, lazy Stannard who had rebelled against a vacation on a farm, but his carriage was better and his figure sturdier, and his hands weren't half so white and gentlemanlike. Underneath his lazy ease was a hint of something to depend on in an emergency. Perhaps even his laziness wasn't so ingrained as it used to be. They all went out on the veranda to say good-by and waved as long as the car was in sight. "Sorry you're not going, too?" Bruce asked Elliott. "Oh, no! I wouldn't go for anything." "For a girl who didn't want to come up here at all," he said softly, "you're doing pretty well. Decided to make the best of us, didn't you?" She looked at him indignantly. "Indeed, I didn't! I wouldn't do such a thing. Why, I just _love_ it here!" Then she saw the twinkle in his eye. "You tease!" "I'm going away, myself, next week, S. A. T. C. I can't get any nearer France than that, it seems, just yet. Father Bob says he can manage all right this winter and he has a notion of something new that may turn up next spring. He says, 'Go,' and so does Mother Jess. So--I'm going." Elliott stole a quick glance at the firm, clear-cut face, chiseled already in lines of purpose and power. "I'm glad," she said, "but we shall--miss you." "Shall _you_ miss me?" "Yes." "I'd hate to think that you wouldn't."