"Don't you think," he faltered, as she released him--"couldn't _this_ be my home?" "Of course, it _is_ your home. Isn't your name on the front door?" "Oh yes," he said, smiling through his tears; "I forgot that," and the remembrance seemed to give him confidence in the future. Mrs. Gano was looking hastily about for some excuse for bringing him into the room. "Here is a book that belonged to your great-grandfather, called _Plutarch's Lives_. You will read it when you are older, and remember it was my parting present after your first visit." "Oh, thank you," he said, brushing his sleeve across his eyes; and they went out, and Ethan got into the carriage. "Oh, dear me, my fireflies!" he shouted, suddenly, as the driver was closing the door. "I shall need them so awfully--I mean so pertickly--in Boston"; and he scrambled out and rushed up to his bedroom. "What does the child mean?" asked Mrs. Gano. "It's all right," said Aunt Valeria; "something I gave him. I'll tell you afterwards." Ethan came tumbling down-stairs in the buff middle of the carpet--anywhere, indifferent for once to Yaffti and his possible revenge. "Good-bye," he called back from the carriage-window. "Thank you, ma'am, for _Plutarch_." "Keep him covered," was Mrs. Gano's unemotional rejoinder as they drove away. Ethan sank back breathless, clutching the camphor-bottle under his coat. "Tired?" asked Uncle Elijah, looking at the flushed little face. Ethan nodded "Yes, sir." "You needn't have hurried so; there's oceans of time. But I thought we could wait just as well at the station." They were not going the way Ethan had been driven that day of his arrival, so long, long ago, at the beginning of the summer. He leaned forward excitedly. "Why, he's taking us round by the Wilderness!" "The what?" Uncle Elijah looked out. "Moses! they do let things run wild here." Ethan's quick eye had sought out the spot where, hidden in that tangle, was a little clearing and a "heavenly secret-house," with a barberry-bush for a roof. But no hint of such a matter to the profane passer-by! What was that? His heart gave a great jump. Why, it was An' Jerusha on the lower terrace watching to see them go by! She stood there alone, and now she was putting her apron up to her eyes. Nobody else was looking after the carriage from this side. It was plain, for all his grandmother's momentary melting, it was An' Jerusha who had felt the parting most, and he had refused to kiss her! "Uncle Elijah," said the child, hurriedly, "do you mind, if we've got such a lot of time, I'd like to get a barberry leaf for my fire-flies. Please stop!" he called out of the window to the coachman.