that the least she could do was to respond with what grace was in her power; and so with a little smile that had something pathetic in it to those who saw it, it was so tremulous with that pitiful doubt that had been born of the last three unhappy years, she put her hand into Mrs. Fleming’s, and signified her readiness to go with her.  And then and there, as she met that smile, Kate Fleming vowed to herself that never again through fault of hers should this child suffer for lack of loving care; and with this resolve warm in her heart, she clasped the little hand in hers more closely, and said brightly,—­

“You’ll see how glad the girls will be to see you, Ally, when we get home.”

But Ally had no response to make to this.  A great dread had seized her as she felt herself going to meet them.  Uncle John’s and Aunt Kate’s assurance of regard was one thing, but Uncle John and Aunt Kate were not the girls, and poor Ally was quite sure that no one of them had ever cared very much for her, though Mary had alternately petted and laughed at her, and now—­why, now, they might dislike her for making such a fuss, for Laura had often said she did dislike people so who made a fuss, and Maud would agree with Laura, and Mary would laugh at her more than ever.  Oh, dear! oh, dear! if she could only go back! if she could only get that dear good Doctor to find her a place in—­But, “Here we are, Ally!” said Uncle John; and “Here she is!” exclaimed three girlish voices; and there, standing in the doorway, were Laura and Maud and Mary; and at sight of their faces, at sound of their voices, Ally’s dread began to vanish.  And then, just then, it was that Peter, who had been banished to the hall, called out uproariously, “Ally’s come!  Ally’s come! give her a kiss! give her a kiss!” and Mary called out after him, “I taught him to say that; I taught him more ’n a month ago.”

“’More ‘n a month ago’!  Oh!” breathed Ally under her breath, “she liked me well enough for this more ’n a month ago!”

Uncle John and Aunt Kate and Laura and Maud and Mary were looking on, and they knew what Ally was thinking of,—­the very words of it,—­by that sudden radiant smile upon her face; and Mary was so pleased thereat, she had to cry out,—­

“Oh, what a jolly Thanksgiving this is!  Could anything be added to make it jollier?”

But something was added.  When they were all at the dinner-table that night,—­mother and father and girls and the three boys who had just come up from their boarding-school that very morning,—­this telegram was brought in from Uncle Tom,—­

“Thanks for word of Ally’s safety.  All send love.  Florence is writing to her.”

Ally’s eyes opened wide with astonishment at this conclusion.  Florence!  Aunt Kate read the meaning of that astonished look, and sent a glance to Ally that said as plainly as words could say, “You see, even Florence didn’t mean as badly as you thought.”