“No,” answered the young lady, “he couldn’t leave, nor George either, so Aunt Martha is my escort.  She’s fast asleep just opposite me, never dreaming, I dare say, that we’ve stopped.”

“The mischief,” said Henry.  “What’s to be done?  The old gent was obliged to be in Southbridge to-day, so he bade me put Rose and Jenny under your father’s protection; but as he isn’t here I’ll have to go myself.”

“No you won’t either,” returned Ida, “Aunt Martha is as good as a man any time, and can look after three as well as one.”

“That’s Ida Selden!  Isn’t she handsome?” whispered Jenny to Mary.

But Mary hardly heard her.  She was gazing admiringly at Ida’s animated face, and tracing in it a strong resemblance to the boyish features, which looked so mischievously out from the golden locket, which at that moment lay next to her heart.

“All aboard,” shouted the shrill voice of the conductor and Mary awoke from her reverie, and twining her arms around Sally Furbush’s neck, bade her good-bye.

“The Lord be with you,” said Sally, “and be sure you pay strict attention to Grammar!”

Mary next looked for Ella, but she stood at a distance jesting lightly with Henry Lincoln, and evidently determined not to see her sister, who was hurrying towards her, when “All aboard” was again shouted in her ear, while at the same moment, the conductor lifted her lightly upon the step where Rose and Jenny were standing.

“This car is brim full,” said Rose, looking over her shoulder, “but I guess you can find a good seat in the next one.”

The train was already in motion, and as Mary did not care to peril her life or limbs for the sake of pleasing Rose, she followed her into the car, where there was a goodly number of unoccupied seats, notwithstanding Rose’s assertion to the contrary.  As the train moved rapidly over the long, level meadow, and passed the Chicopee burying-ground, Mary looked out to catch a glimpse of the thorn-apple tree, which overshadowed the graves of her parents, and then, as she thought how cold and estranged was the only one left of all the home circle, she drew her veil over her face and burst into tears.

“Who is that young lady?” asked Ida, who was riding backward and consequently directly opposite to Mary.

“What young lady?” said Rose; and Ida replied, “The one who kissed that queer-looking old woman and then followed you and Jenny into the cars.”

“Oh, that was Mary Howard,” was Rose’s answer.

“Mary Howard!” repeated Ida, as if the name were one she had heard before, “who is she, and what is she?”

“Nobody but a town pauper,” answered Rose, “and one of Jenny’s protegee’s.  You see she is sitting by her.”

“She doesn’t seem like a pauper,” said Ida.  “I wish she would take off that veil.  I want to see how she looks.”

“Rough and blowsy, of course, like any other country girl,” was Rose’s reply.