It was a sympathetic voice that asked the question, and Judith looked up with a smile.  Her mother’s cousin stood in the doorway—­a prim little old spinster, who had been their guest for several days.  Like Marguerite, she, too, had come back to her native village after an absence of four years, but not to her father’s house.  She was all alone in the world, save for a few distant relatives who called her Cousin Barbara.  After a short visit, she would go away for another long absence, but not, like Marguerite, to a life full of many interests and pleasures.  She had only her music pupils in a little Pennsylvania mining town, and a room in a boarding-house.

“Come in, Cousin Barbara,” said Judith, cordially.  “I was sighing over Marguerite’s departure.  You know she was my best friend at school, and I have missed her so much since her marriage.  The other girls in our class have all gone away to teach or take positions somewhere, except the two who married and settled down here in Westbrooke; and they have such different interests now.  All they can talk about is their housekeeping or their babies.  Most of the boys have gone away, too.  I don’t wonder.  Anybody with any ambition would get away from such a place if it were within the range of possibilities.”

Cousin Barbara had seated herself in a low rocking-chair and was pulling the basting threads from a finished garment.  “Listen!” she said, “isn’t that Amy calling again?” An excited little voice came shrilly up the stairs.

“Look, Judith!  Mrs. Avery is coming back again!  What do you suppose is the matter?”

The omnibus dashing down the road stopped suddenly at the gate opposite.  The door burst open, and the dignified Mr. Avery, in undignified haste, ran breathlessly toward the house, while Marguerite called out a laughing explanation to her friend at the window.

“I left my watch on the dressing-table and my purse with my trunk keys in it, and we’ve only six minutes to catch the train.  Isn’t that just my way?  Look at Algernon run!  I wouldn’t have believed it of him.  Well, it has given me another chance to remind you that you are to come to me in February.  You needn’t shake your head.  I’ll not take ‘no’ for an answer.  You’re so good at planning, Judith, I’m sure you can arrange it some way.”

Then as her husband returned, red-faced and breathless, she leaned out of the ’bus, and laughingly blew an airy kiss from her fingertips.

“That’s just like her!” exclaimed Judith.  “She’s as irresponsible and careless as a child.  She was always late to school, and losing her pencils and forgetting her books.  We used to call her ’Daisy Dilly-dally.’  She’s such a dear little butterfly, though, and it doesn’t seem possible that we are the same age—­twenty-three.  I feel like a patriarch beside her.”

“So she has invited you to visit her in Washington,” began Miss Barbara.  “I am glad of that.  It will be such a fine change for you.”