“Oh, Marian,” she exclaimed, tripping across the floor, and impulsively throwing her arms around Miss Hazelton’s neck, “I am so glad to meet some one from home.  It seems almost like Helen I am kissing,” and her lips again met those of Marian Hazelton, who amid her own joy at finding Katy unchanged, wondered what the Camerons would say to see their Mrs. Wilford kissing a poor seamstress whom they would have spurned.

But Katy did not care for Camerons then, or even think of them, as in her rich basquine and pretty hat, with emeralds and diamonds sparkling on her fingers, she sat down by Marian, whose hands, though delicate and small, showed marks of labor such as Katy had never known.

“You must forgive me for going over your house,” Marian said, after they had talked together a moment, and Katy had told how sorry she was to miss the call.  “I could not resist the temptation, and it did me so much good, although I must confess to a good cry when I came back and thought of the difference between us.”

There was a quiver of her lip and a tone in her voice which touched Katy’s heart, and she tried to comfort her, forgetting entirely whether what she said was proper or not, and impetuously letting out that even in houses like hers there was trouble.  Not that she was unhappy in the least, for she was not; but, oh! the fuss it was to be fashionable and keep from doing anything to shock his folks, who were so particular about every little thing, even to the way she tied her bonnet and sat in a chair.

This was what Katy said, and Marian, looking straight into Katy’s face, felt that she would not exchange places with the young girl-wife whom so many envied.

“Tell me of Silverton,” was Katy’s next remark.  “You don’t know how I want to go there; but Wilford does not think it best—­that is, at present.  Next fall I am surely going.  I picture to myself just how it will look; Morris’ garden, full of the autumnal flowers—­the ripe peaches in our orchard, the grapes ripening on the wall, and the long shadows on the grass, just as I used to watch them, wondering what made them move so fast, and where they could be going.  Will it be unchanged, Marian?  Do places seem the same when once we have left them?” and Katy’s eager eyes looked wistfully at Marian, who replied:  “Not always—­not often, in fact; but in your case they may.  You have not been long away.”

“Only a year,” Katy said.  “I was as long as that in Canandaigua; but this past year is different.  I have seen so much, and lived so much, that I feel ten years older than I did last spring, when you and Helen made my wedding dress.  Darling Helen!  When did you see her last?”

“I was there five weeks ago,” Marian replied.  “I saw them all, and told them I was coming to New York.”

“Do they miss me any?  Do they talk of me?  Do they wish me back again?” Katy asked, and Marian replied:  “They talked of little else—­that is, your own family.  Dr. Morris, I think, did not mention your name.  He has grown very silent and reserved,” and Marian’s eyes were fixed inquiringly upon Katy, as if to ascertain how much she knew of the cause for Morris’ reserve.