Resolutely turning her head away, lest she should see the scene of her disaster when last in that city, she walked up and down the ladies' room, her satin hood and heavy broché shawl, on that warm July morning, attracting much attention. But little did she care. Margaret was the burden of her thoughts, and the appearance of Mrs. Douglas herself would scarcely have disturbed her. Much less, then, did the presence of a queerly dressed young girl, who, entering the car with her, occupied from necessity the same seat, feeling herself a little annoyed at being thus obliged to sit so near one whom she mentally pronounced "mighty unsociable," for not once did Madam Conway turn her face that way, so intent was she upon watching their apparent speed, and counting the number of miles they had come. When Charlton was reached, however, she did observe the women in a shaker, who, with a pail of huckleberries on her arm, was evidently waiting for someone. An audible groan from the depths of the satin hood, as Betsy Jane passed out and the cars passed on, showed plainly that the mother and sister of George Douglas were recognized, particularly as the former wore the red and yellow calico, which, having been used as a "dress up" the summer before, now did its owner service as a garment of everyday wear. But not long did Madam Conway suffer her mind to dwell upon matters so trivial. Hillsdale was not far away, and she came each moment nearer. Two more stations were reached--the haunted swamp was passed--Chicopee River was in sight--the bridge appeared in view--the whistle sounded, and she was there. Half an hour later, and Theo, looking from her window, started in surprise as she saw the village omnibus drive up to their door. "'Tis grandmother!" she cried, and running to meet her she asked why she had returned so soon. "They are coming at noon," answered the excited woman--then, hurrying into the house and throwing off her hood, she continued: "He's found her at the Falls; they are between here and Albany now; tell everybody to hurry as fast as they can; tell Hannah to make a chicken pie--Maggie was fond of that; and turkey--tell her to kill a turkey--it's Maggie's favorite dish--and ice cream, too! I wish I had some this minute," and she wiped the perspiration from her burning face. No more hysterics now; no more lonesome nights; no more thoughts of death--for Margaret was coming home--the best loved of them all. Joyfully the servants told to each other the glad news, disbelieving entirely the report fast gaining circulation that the queenly Maggie was lowly born--a grandchild of old Hagar. Up and down the stairs Madam Conway ran, flitting from room to room, and tarrying longest in that of Margaret, where the sunlight came in softly through the half-closed blinds and the fair summer blossoms smiled a welcome for the expected one.