Dab Kinzer thought he had never known Jenny Walters to appear so well as she looked that evening; and he must have been right, for good Mrs. Foster said to Annie: 

“What a pleasant, kindly face your new friend has!  You must ask her to come and see us.  She seems quite a favorite with the Kinzers.”

“Have you known Dabney long?” Annie had asked of Jenny a little before that.

“Ever since I was a little bit of a girl, and a big boy seven or eight years old pushed me into the snow.”

“Was it Dabney?”

“No, but Dabney was the boy that pushed him in for doing it, and then helped me up.  Dab rubbed his face for him with snow till he cried.”

“Just like him!” exclaimed Annie with emphasis.  “I should think his friends here will miss him.”

“Indeed they will,” replied Jenny, and then she seemed disposed to be quiet for a while.

The party could not last forever, pleasant as it was, and by the time his duties as “host” were met, Dabney was tired enough to go to bed and sleep soundly.  His arms were lame and sore from the strain the ponies had given them, and that may have been the reason why he dreamed half the night that he was driving runaway teams and crashing over rickety old bridges.

But why was it that every one of his dream-wagons, no matter who else was in it, seemed to have Jenny Walters and Annie Foster smiling at him from the back seat?

He rose later than usual next morning, and the house was all in its customary order by the time he got down-stairs.

Breakfast was ready also, and, by the time that was over, Dab’s great new trunk was brought down-stairs by a couple of the farm-hands.

“It’s an hour yet to train-time,” said Ham Morris; “but we might as well get ready.  We must be on hand in time.”

What a long hour that was, and not even a chance given for Dab to run down and take a good-bye look at the “Swallow!”

His mother and Ham and Miranda and the girls seemed to be all made up of “good-bye” that morning.

“Mother,” said Dab.

“What is it, my dear boy?”

“That’s it exactly.  If you say ‘dear boy’ again, Ham Morris ’ll have to carry me to the cars.  I’m all kind o’ wilted now.”

Then they all laughed, and before they got through laughing, they all cried except Ham.

He put his hands in his pockets and drew a long whistle.

The ponies were at the door now.  The light wagon had three seats in it, but when Dab’s trunk was in, there was only room left for the ladies; Ham and Dab had to walk to the station.

It was a short walk, however, and a silent one, but as they came in sight of the platform, Dab exclaimed: 

“There they are, all of them!”

“The whole party?”

“Why, the platform’s as crowded as our house was last night.”

Mrs. Kinzer and her daughters were already the center of the crowd of young people, and Ford Foster and Frank Harley, with Joe and Fuz Hart were asking what had become of Dab, for the train was in sight.