“It has been a lovely summer, hasn’t it?” cried Sally, as the Burnside carriage, fine bay horses and liveried coachman, appeared upon the driveway, looking suggestively like city life again.  “A successful one too, don’t you think, for the boys?  They’re confident they have improved the ground so much that their first real crops, next year-will begin to show what crops ought to be.”

“Yes, it has all been a success,” agreed Mrs. Burnside, “in spite of the mistakes they own to and laugh over.  Jarvis himself has received a world of good from his out-door life.  I’m hoping that all your brothers will make the most of next season—­especially Max.”

“Oh, Max will come round in time,” declared Josephine confidently.  “I caught him feeling enviously of Jarvis’s arms the other day.  When Jarvis said he felt like a giant, Max said he thought he’d have to begin giant culture, whether he succeeded in making any squashes grow or not.”

This thought cheered Sally through the trying moment of watching her friends drive away.  Their going took place at rather an unfortunate time for her.  Uncle Timothy was off on a visit to his old New Hampshire home; Constance Carew had departed the week before—­though under promise to return for a long visit the following summer; and Janet was away for a wedding in which she was to play the part of bridesmaid.  Sally’s one consolation was that Joanna was to take the place of Mary Ann Flinders in the kitchen.

This arrangement had been made by Mrs. Burnside.  On just what terms it had been effected Sally was not permitted to inquire.  She had protested against it, but the argument had ended by the elder woman’s saying gently, “Sally dear, I shall spend a happier winter if I know you have my good Joanna here.  She likes the place, it is a pleasant change for her from the responsibilities of my entertaining, and her sister is eager to take her place with me.  So let me have my way—­at least for this winter.”  It was a way of putting the matter which could not be set aside.

When the carriage had disappeared, Sally wandered out to the kitchen to console herself with the sight of Joanna.  There was no doubt that the presence of that capable, comfortable person, possessed as she was of intelligence and common sense, would be a real support to the young mistress of the house.  But at this moment even Joanna failed her, for she had gone to her room, the hour being that of mid-afternoon.  Sally wandered back again into the living-room, feeling too disconsolate even to make the effort to cheer herself by going for a brisk walk in the keen late October air, a measure which usually had a prompt effect upon her spirits.

From the living-room window she saw a messenger boy approaching, and hurried to the porch door to meet him, hoping he brought no ill news.  Two minutes later she was reading the message, alone in the living-room, while the boy waited in the hall.  Its purport banished all thought of present circumstances, except to bring the wish that it had arrived a half-hour earlier.  “Mr. Rudd seriously ill anxious to have you come at once” it read, and was signed by the name of one of Mr. Rudd’s old New Hampshire friends.