Fort William came and passed and in the sparkling sunshine of another morning the train dashed into the wild Superior country where the wealth lies under the rock instead of above it.  To Desire, her first glimpse of the Great Lake was like a glimpse of home.  The coolness of the air was grateful after prairie heat but, scarcely had she welcomed back the smell of pine and fir, before it, too, was left behind and they swung swiftly into a softer land—­a land of rolling fields and fences and farmhouses; of little towns, with tree-lined roads; of streams less noisy and more disciplined; of fat cows drowsy in the growing heat.

“This,” said Aunt Caroline with a breath of proprietary satisfaction, “is Ontario.”

Desire, always literal, pointed out that according to the map in the time-table, they had been in Ontario for some considerable time.

Aunt Caroline thought that the map was probably mistaken.  “For,” she added with finality, “it was certainly not the Ontario to which I have been accustomed.”

This settled the matter for any sensible person.

“We are nearly home now,” she went on kindly.  “I hope you are not feeling very nervous, my dear.”

“I am not feeling nervous at all,” said Desire with surprise.

Fortunately Aunt Caroline took this proof of insensibility in a flattering light.

“Yes, yes,” she said.  “It is not, of course, as if you were arriving alone.  You can depend upon me entirely.  John, are you sure that your car will be in waiting?”

“I wired it to wait,” grinned John.  “And usually it’s a good waiter.”

“Because,” said Aunt Caroline, “we do not wish to be delayed at the station.  If Eliza Merry weather is there, the quicker we get away the better.  I am determined that she shall be introduced to Desire exactly when other people are and not before.  Please remember that, Benis.  Introduce Desire to no one at the station.  I think, my dear, we may put on our hats.”

“It’s an hour yet, Aunt.”

“I know, but I do not wish to be hurried.”

Desire put on her hat.  It was because she was always willing to give Aunt Caroline her way in small matters that she invariably took her own in anything that counted.  It is a simple recipe and recommended to anyone with Aunts. . . .

“There’s Potter’s wood!” said Benis, who had been somewhat silent.

Desire looked out eagerly.  But Potter’s wood was just like any other wood and—­

“There’s Sadler’s Pond!” said John.

“They’ve cut down the old elm!” Aunt Caroline voiced deep displeasure.

“And put up a bill-board,” said Benis.

Desire felt a trifle lonely.  These people, so close to her and yet so far away, were going home.

“Oh, how I wish you weren’t stopping off,” said the rancher’s wife, an actual tear on her flushed cheek.  “You’ve been so kind, Mrs. Spence.  And anyone more understanding with children I never saw.  When you’ve got a boy like my Sandy for your own—­”