“Glad to see ye, Miss Patsy; right glad ’ndeed, child,” returned the old man.  But others were waiting to greet him; pretty Beth De Graf and dainty Louise Merrick—­not Louise “Merrick” any longer, though, but bearing a new name she had recently acquired—­and demure Mary, Patsy’s little maid and an old friend of Thomas Hucks’, and Uncle John with his merry laugh and cordial handshake and, finally, a tall and rather dandified young man who remained an interested spectator in the background until Mr. Merrick seized and dragged him forward.

“Here’s another for you to know, Thomas,” said the little millionaire.  “This is the other half of our Louise—­Mr. Arthur Weldon—­and by and by you can judge whether he’s the better half or not.”

The aged servant, hat in hand, made a respectful bow to Mr. Weldon.  His frank eyes swept the young man from head to foot but his smile was the same as before.

“Miss Louise is wiser ner I be,” said the old fellow simply; “I’m safe to trust to her jedgment, I guess.”

There was a general laugh, at this, and they began to clamber aboard the wagon and to stow away beneath the seats the luggage the colored porter was bringing out.

“Stop at the Junction House, Thomas,” said Mr. Merrick as they moved away.

“Nora has the breakfast all ready at home, sir,” replied Thomas.

“Good for Nora!  But we can’t fast until we reach home—­eight good miles of jolting—­so we’ll stop at the Junction House for a glass of Mrs. Todd’s famous milk.”

“Very good, sir.”

“Is anyone coming for our trunks and freight?  There’s half a car of truck to be carted over.”

“Ned’s on the way, sir; and he’ll get the liveryman to help if he can’t carry it all.”

The Junction House was hidden from the station by the tiny hill, as were the half dozen other buildings tributary to Chazy Junction.  As the wagon drew up before the long piazza which extended along the front of the little frame inn they saw a man in shabby gray seated at a small table with some bread and a glass of milk before him.  It was their unrecognized guest of the night—­the uninvited lodger on the rear platform—­but he did not raise his eyes or appear to notice the new arrivals.

“Mrs. Todd!  Hey, Mrs. Todd!” called Uncle John.  “Anybody milked the cow yet?”

A frowsy looking woman came out, all smiles, and nodded pleasantly at the expectant group in the wagon.  Behind her loomed the tall, lean form of Lucky Todd, the “proprietor,” who was serious as a goat, which animal he closely resembled in feature.

“Breakfas’ all ’round, Mr. Merrick?” asked the woman.

“Not this time, Mrs. Todd.  Nora has our breakfast waiting for us.  But we want some of your delicious milk to last us to the farm.”

“Las’ night’s milkin’s half cream by this time,” she rejoined, as she briskly reentered the house.

The man at the table held out his empty glass.