"I have not overlooked, Mary," Doris strove to get under the crust of reserve and find something with which to deal emotionally, "the years of devotion to us all. You have made no social ties for yourself; have not taken any pleasures outside--what would you like to do now, Mary?" "Go home." "Go--home? Why--where is home, Mary?" The pathos struck Doris--the pathos of those who, having served others, find themselves stranded at last. "Down to Silver Gap." As she spoke, Mary was hearing already the sound of the river on the rocks and seeing the spring flowers in the crevices of the hills. "You mean, go back to Ridge House? You could not stay there alone, Mary, with old Jed." Mary stared blankly--she was further back than Ridge House. "I've been saving," she went slowly on, "all the years. I reckon I have most enough to buy the cabin where us-all was born." The tone and words took on the mountain touch. Doris was fascinated. "You mean your father's old cabin?" she asked. "Yes. It lies 'cross the river from Ridge House, and when I think of it," a suggestion of radiance broke on Mary's face, "I get a rising in my side. I'm aiming to get it back----" The girl stopped short--something in her threatened to break loose. The pause gave Doris a moment to consider. She was baffled by Mary, but she saw clearly that the girl had but one desire. "Mary," she said, presently, "I have always intended, when the children no longer needed you, to give you some proof of my appreciation of all that you have done for us. You seem to have shown me a way. You shall have the old cabin, if it can be obtained, and it shall be made comfortable for you. It is not so far but what you can have a little oversight of Ridge House, too, and that will mean a great deal to me. I am thinking of opening the house sometime." Doris got no further for, to her astonishment, Mary rose and came stiffly toward her. When she was near enough she reached out her hands and said: "God hearing me, 'I'll pay you back some day. I will; I will!" Doris was embarrassed. "You have paid everything you owe me, Mary," she returned, quietly. "It is my turn now. I will see about the cabin at once." Finally a letter came from Thornton. A dictated letter. He was about to leave for South Africa and would be gone perhaps several years. He left everything in Doris's capable hands! Again Doris took breath for the next stretch of the long way. And Joan and Nancy went to Dondale and Miss Phillips. It was a hard break for them all and was taken characteristically. Joan, tear-stained and quivering, set her face to the change and excitement with unmistakable delight. Nancy was frightened into silent but smiling acquiescence. She expected, she told Joan, that it would kill her, but she would not make Aunt Dorrie feel any worse than she did by showing what she felt! At this Joan tossed her head and sent two large tears rolling down her cheeks.