“Why, really,” said Ella, “you seem to be well posted in his affairs.  Perhaps you can tell us whose graves he wished to find.  He said he had some friends buried here, and inquired for the sexton.”

Mary knew nothing about it, and Ella, as if thinking aloud, continued, “It must be that he got belated, and went from the graveyard, across the fields, to the depot;—­but, oh horror!” she added, “there comes Lizzie Upton and the rest of the Boston girls.  Mary, I guess you’ll have to go, or rather, I guess you’ll have to excuse me, for I must run up and dress.  By the way, wouldn’t you like some flowers?  If you would just go into the kitchen, and ask Bridget to show you the garden.”

Mary had flowers enough at home, and so, in spite of Ella’s manoeuvre, she went out at the front door, meeting “Lizzie Upton, and the rest of the Boston girls,” face to face.  Miss Porter, who acted the part of hostess while Ella was dressing, was quickly interrogated by Lizzie Upton, as to who the young lady was they met in the yard.

“That’s Ella Campbell’s sister,” said Miss Porter.  Then lowering her voice to a whisper, she continued, “Don’t you believe, Ella isn’t Mrs. Campbell’s own daughter, but an adopted one!”

“I know that,” answered Lizzie; “but this sister, where does she live?”

“Oh, in a kind of a heathenish, out-of-the-way place, and teaches school for a living.”

“Well,” returned Lizzie, “she is a much finer looking girl than Ella.”

“How can you say so,” exclaimed three or four girls in a breath, and Lizzie replied, “Perhaps she hasn’t so much of what is called beauty in her face, but she has a great deal more intellect.”

Here the door-bell again rang; and Ella, having made a hasty toilet, came tripping down the stairs in time to welcome Rose Lincoln, whom she embraced as warmly as if a little eternity, instead of three days, had elapsed since they met.

“I had perfectly despaired of your coming,” said she “Oh, how sweet you do look!  But where’s Jenny?”

Rose’s lip curled scornfully, as she replied, “Why, she met Mary Howard in the store, and I couldn’t drag her away.”

“And who is Mary Howard?” asked Lizzie Upton.

Rose glanced at Ella, who said, “Why, she’s the girl you met going out of the yard.”

“Oh, yes.—­I know,—­your sister,” returned Lizzie.  “Isn’t she to be here?  I have noticed her in church, and should like to get acquainted with her.  She has a fine eye and forehead.”

Ella dared not tell Lizzie, that Mary was neither polished nor refined, so she answered, that “she could not stay this afternoon, as Mrs. Mason, the lady with whom she lived, was in a hurry to go home.”

Miss Porter looked up quickly from her embroidery, and winked slyly at Ella in commendation of her falsehood.  Jenny now came bounding in, her cheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling like diamonds.

“I’m late, I know,” said she, “but I met Mary in the store, and I never know when to leave her.  I tried to make her come with me, telling her that as you were her sister ’twas no matter if she weren’t invited; but she said that Mrs. Mason had accepted an invitation to take tea with Mrs. Johnson, and she was going there too.”