Little Clara, cried when she heard I was going, and I felt myself obliged to commit the shameful deception of talking about baby bears and my possible return to this place.

Miss Edith accompanied us to the station, and when I took leave of her on the platform she gave me a good, hearty handshake.  “I believe that we shall see each other again,” she said, “and when we meet I want you to make a report, and I hope it will be a good one!”

“About what?” I asked.

She smiled in gentle derision, and the conductor cried, “All aboard!”

I found a vacant seat, and, side by side, Miss Willoughby and I sped on towards Waterton.

For some time I had noticed that Miss Willoughby had ceased to look past me when she spoke to me, and now she fixed her eyes fully upon me and said: 

“I am always sorry when I go away from that house, for I think the people who live there are the dearest in the world, excepting my own mother and aunt, who are nearer to me than anybody else, although, if I needed a mother, Mrs. Larramie would take me to her heart, I am sure, just as if I were her own daughter, and I am not related to them in any way, although I have always looked upon Edith as a sister, and I don’t believe that if I had a real sister she could possibly have been as dear a girl as Edith, who is so lovable and tender and forgiving—­whenever there is anything to forgive—­and who, although she is a girl of such strong character and such a very peculiar way of thinking about things, has never said a hard word to me in all her life, even when she found that our opinions were different, which was something she often did find, for she looks upon everything in this world in her own way, and bases all her judgments upon her own observations and convictions, while I am very willing to let those whom I think I ought to look up to and respect judge for me—­at least in a great many things, but of course not in all matters, for there are some things which we must decide for ourselves without reference to other people’s opinions, though I should be sorry indeed if I had so many things to decide as Edith has, or rather chooses to have, for if she would depend more upon other people I think it would not only be easier for her, but really make her happier, for if you could hear some of the wonderful things which she has discussed with me after we have gone to bed at night it would really make your head ache—­that is, if you are subject to that sort of thing, which I am if I am kept awake too long, but I am proud to say that I don’t think I ever allowed Edith to suppose that I was tired of hearing her talk, for when any one is as lovely as she is I think she ought to be allowed to talk about what she pleases and just along as she pleases.”

[Illustration:  “Talking about baby bears”]