How John William very nearly hit the mark, and how shamefully Arabella missed it with the big stones she had been throwing all the week—how rest returned to the tortured mind of Mr. Teesdale, and how Mrs. T. was not sorry that she had left the clean good sheets on the spare bed in spite of many a good mind to put them away again—all this is a very short story indeed. For Missy reappeared on the Saturday afternoon while they were all at tea. Arabella was the one who caught first sight of the red sunshade bobbing up the steep green ascent of the farmhouse, for Arabella sat facing the window; but it was left to John William to turn in his chair and recognise the tall, well-dressed figure at a glance as it breasted the hill. “Here she is—here's Miriam!” he cried out instantly. “Now what did I tell you all?” He was rolling down his shirt-sleeves as he spoke, flushed with triumph. Mr. Teesdale had risen and pressed forward to peer through the window, and as he did so the red sunshade waved frantically. Beneath it was a neat straw hat, and an unmistakable red-fringed face nodding violently on top of a frock of vestal whiteness. Arabella flew out to meet the truant, and John William to put on a coat. “Well, well!” said Mr. Teesdale, holding both her hands when the girl was once more among them. “Well, to be sure; but you're just in time for tea, that's one good thing.” “Nay, I must make some fresh,” cried his wife, without a smile. “Mind, I do think you might have written, Miriam. You have led us a pretty dance, I can tell you that.” She caught up the teapot and whisked out of the room. “Have I?” the girl asked meekly of the old man. “No, no, my dear,” and “Not you,” the two Teesdales answered in one breath; though the father added, “but you did promise to write.” “I know I did. But you see——” Missy laughed. “You should have written, my dear,” David said gently, as she got no further, and he had no wish to cross-question her. “I didn't know what had got you.” “None of us could think,” added Arabella. “Except me, Miriam,” said John William, proudly. “You were getting your new rig-out; wasn't that it?” The girl nodded and beamed at him as she said that it was. The sunshade was lying on the sofa now, and Missy sitting at the table in Arabella's place. “I thought,” said Mr. Teesdale, “that you had gone off to Sydney, and weren't coming near us any more. Do you know why? There was a Miss Oliver in the list of the overland passengers in Thurday's Argus.” “Indeed,” said the girl. “Yes, and it was a Miss M. Oliver, and all.” “Well, I never! That's what you'd call a coincident, if you like.” “I'm very glad it was nothing worse,” said Mr. Teesdale heartily. “I made that sure it was you.” “You never mentioned it, father?” said John William. “No, because I was also quite sure that she would write if we only gave her time. You ought to have written, Missy, and then I'd have gone in and fetched you——”