By the time they reached the country station, Gladys’s spirits were quite restored and, carrying her doll, she left the train with Ellen.

Faith and Ernest were there to meet them.  No wonder the children did not recognize each other, for they had been so young when last they met; and when Gladys’s curious eyes fell upon the country girl, she felt like a princess who comes to honor humble subjects with a visit.

Faith and Ernest had never thought about being humble subjects.  Their rich relative who lived in some unknown place and sometimes sent their mother gifts of money and clothing had often roused their gratitude, and when she had written that their cousin Gladys would like to visit the farm on her birthday, they at once set their wits to work to think how they could make her have a good time.  They always had a good time themselves, and now that vacation had begun, the days seemed very full of fun and sunshine.  They thought it must be hard to live in a city street as their mother had described, it to them, and even though she was away now and could not advise them, they felt as if they could make Gladys enjoy herself.

Faith’s hair was shingled as short as her brother’s, and her gingham frock was clean and fresh.  She watched each person descend from the train, and when a pretty girl with brown eyes and curls appeared, carrying a large doll, Faith’s bright gaze grew brighter, and she was delighted to find that it was Gladys.  She took it for granted that kind-faced Ellen, so well dressed in black, was her aunt, and greeted her so, but Gladys’s brown eyes widened.

“My mother couldn’t come, for father needed her,” she explained.  “This is my maid, Ellen.”

“Oh,” said Faith, much impressed by such elegance.  “We thought aunt Helen was coming.  Ernest is holding the horse over here,” and she led the way to a two-seated wagon where a twelve-year-old boy in striped shirt and old felt hat was waiting.

Faith made the introductions and then helped Gladys and Ellen into the back seat of the wagon, all unconscious of her cousin’s wonder at the absence of silver mountings and broadcloth cushions.  Then Faith climbed over the wheel into the seat beside her brother, and the horse started.  She turned about so as to talk more easily with her guest.

“What a beautiful doll!” she said admiringly.

“Yes,” returned Gladys, “this is my birthday, you know.”

“Oh, then, is it new?  I thought it was!  Hasn’t she the prettiest clothes?  Have you named her yet?”

“Her name is Vera.  Mother says it means true, or truth, or something like that.”

Ernest turned half around to glance at the object of the girls’ admiration; but he thought Gladys herself a much more attractive creature than the doll.

“I suppose your cousin Gladys can’t ask you to admire her doll much, Master Ernest,” said Ellen.  She liked these rosy children at once, and the fresh, sunlit air that had painted their cheeks.