Helen’s cheeks were crimson as she waived this part of the conversation and wished aloud that she had come around in the carriage, as she could thus have taken Aunt Betsy over the city before the train would leave.

“Mark spoke of that when he heard I was going to-day,” Aunt Betsy said; “I’ll warrant you he’ll tend to it.”

Aunt Betsy was right, for when Mark and his mother joined their guests and learned that Aunt Betsy’s intention was unchanged, he suggested the ride and offered the use of their carriage.  Helen did not decline the offer, and ere half an hour had passed, Aunt Betsy, with her satchel, umbrella and capbox, was comfortably adjusted in Mrs. Banker’s carriage with Helen beside her, while Mark bade his coachman drive wherever Miss Lennox wished to go, taking care to reach the train in time.

They were tearful thanks which Aunt Betsy gave to her kind friends as she was driven away, going first to the Bowery to say good-by and leave the packages of fruits and herbs, lest the Tubbses should “think her suddenly stuck up.”

“Would you mind taking ’Tilda in?  It would please her mightily,” Aunt Betsy whispered, as they were alighting in front of Mr. Peter Tubbs’; and as the result of this suggestion the carriage, when again it emerged into Broadway, held Mattie Tubbs, happier, prouder than she had been in all her life before, while the gratified mother at home felt amply repaid for all the trouble her visitor had made her.

And Helen enjoyed it, too, finding Mattie a little insipid and tiresome, it is true, but feeling happy in the consciousness that she was making others happy.  It was a long drive they took, and Aunt Betsy saw so much that her brain grew giddy and she was glad when they started for the depot, taking Madison Square on the way and passing Katy’s house.

“I dare say it is all grand and smart,” Aunt Betsy said, leaning out to look at it, “but I feel best at hum where they are used to me.”

And her face did bear a brighter look, when finally seated in the cars, than it had before since she left Silverton.

“You’ll be home in April, and maybe Katy’ll come, too,” she whispered as she kissed Helen good-by and shook hands with Mattie Tubbs, thanking her for her kindness in seein’ to an old woman, and charging her again never to let the folks in Silverton know that “Betsy Barlow had once been seen at a playhouse.”

Slowly the cars moved away and Helen was driven home, leaving Mattie alone in her glory as she rolled down the Bowery, enjoying greatly the eclat of her position, but feeling a little chagrined at not meeting a single acquaintance by whom to be envied and admired.  Only Tom saw her alight, giving vent to a whistle, and asking if she didn’t feel big, as he tried to hold out his pantaloons in imitation of her dress and walk as she disappeared through the door where the dry goods were swinging.

Katy did not ask where Helen had been, for she was wholly absorbed in Marian Hazelton’s letter, telling how fast the baby improved, how pretty it was growing, and how fond both she and Mrs. Hubbell were of it, loving it almost as well as if it were their own.