“Oh, you be Dr. Wainwright’s darter that’s been to foreign parts, be you?  Waal, miss, the doctor he can’t come because he’s been sent for to set Mr. Stone’s brother’s child’s arm that he broke jumping over a fence, running away from a snake.  But I guess somebody’ll be along soon.  Like enough your folks depended on Mr. Burden; he drives a stage, and reckons to meet passengers, and take up trunks, but he’s sort o’ half-baked, and he’s afraid to bring his old horse out when it rains—­’fraid it’ll catch the rheumatiz.  You better step over to my house ‘long o’ me; somebody’ll be here in the course of an hour.”

Grace’s face flushed.  It took all her pride to keep back a rush of angry, hurt tears.  To give up Paris, and Uncle Ralph and Aunt Hattie, and her winter of music and art, and come to the woods and be treated in this way!  She was amazed and indignant.  But her native good sense showed her there was, there must be, some reason for what looked like neglect.  Then came a tender thought of mamma.  She wouldn’t treat her thus.

“Did a telegram from me reach Dr. Wainwright last evening?” Grace inquired, presently.

The agent fidgeted and looked confused.  Then he said coolly:  “That explains the whole situation now.  A dispatch did come, and I calc’lated to send it up to Wishin’-Brae by somebody passing, but nobody came along goin’ in that direction, and I clean forgot it.  Its too bad; but you step right over to my house and take a bite.  There’ll be a chance to get you home some time to-day.”

At this instant, “Is this Grace Wainwright?” exclaimed a sweet, clear voice, and two arms were thrown lovingly around the tired girl.  “I am Mildred Raeburn, and this is Lawrence, my brother.  We were going over to your house, and may we take you?  I was on an errand there for mamma.  Your people didn’t know just when to look for you, dear, not hearing definitely, but we all supposed you would come on the five o’clock train.  Mr. Slocum, please see that Miss Wainwright’s trunks are put under cover till Burden’s express can be sent for them.”  Mildred stepped into the carryall after Grace, giving her another loving hug.

“Mildred, how dear of you to happen here at just the right moment, like an angel of light!  You always did that.  I remember when we were little things at school.  It is ages since I was here, but nothing has changed.”

“Nothing ever changes in Highland, Grace.  I am sorry you see it again for the first on this wet and dismal day.  But to-morrow will be beautiful, I am sure.”

“Lawrence, you have grown out of my recollection,” said Grace.  “But we’ll soon renew our acquaintance.  I met your chum at Harvard, Edward Gerald at Geneva, and he drove with our party to Paris.”  Then, turning to Mildred, “My mother is no better, is she?  Dear, patient mother!  I’ve been away too long.”

“She is no better,” replied Mildred, gently, “but then she is no worse.  Mrs. Wainwright will be so happy when she has her middle girl by her side again.  She’s never gloomy, though.  It’s wonderful.”