“I have no home and nobody to love me, how then can I ever be homesick?  Grandpa’s grave is all the home I have, and—­and—­God would not take me there when I was so sick, and—­and—­” The quiver of her face showed that she was losing her self-control, and turning away, she took the cedar piggin, and went out to milk Brindle for the last time.

Feeling that they had no right to dictate her future course, neither the miller nor his wife offered any further opposition, and very early the next morning, after Mrs. Wood had given the girl what she called “some good motherly advice,” and provided her with a basket containing food for the journey, she kissed her heartily several times, and saw her stowed away in the miller’s covered cart, which was to convey her to the railway station.  The road ran by the old blacksmith’s shop, and Mr. Wood’s eyes filled as he noticed the wistful, lingering, loving gaze which the girl fixed upon it, until a grove of trees shut out the view; then the head bowed itself, and a stifled moan reached his ears.

The engine whistled as they approached the station, and Edna was hurried aboard the train, while her companion busied himself in transferring her box of clothing to the baggage car.  She had insisted on taking her grandfather’s dog with her, and, notwithstanding the horrified looks of the passengers and the scowl of the conductor, he followed her into the car and threw himself under the seat, glaring at all who passed, and looking as hideously savage as the Norse Managarmar.

“You can’t have a whole seat to yourself, and nobody wants to sit near that ugly brute,” said the surly conductor.

Edna glanced down the aisle, and saw two young gentlemen stretched at full length on separate seats, eyeing her curiously.

Observing that the small seat next to the door was partially filled with the luggage of the parties who sat in front of it, she rose and called to the dog, saying to the conductor as she did so: 

“I will take that half of a seat yonder, where I shall be in nobody’s way.”

Here Mr, Wood came forward, thrust her ticket into her fingers, and shook her hand warmly, saying hurriedly: 

“Hold on to your ticket, and don’t put your head out of the window.  I told the conductor he must look after you and your box when you left the cars; said he would.  Good-by, Edna; take care of yourself, and may God bless you, child.”

The locomotive whistled, the train moved slowly on, and the miller hastened back to his cart.

As the engine got fully under way, and dashed around a curve, the small, straggling village disappeared, trees and hills seemed to the orphan to fly past the window; and when she leaned out and looked back, only the mist-mantled rocks of Lookout, and the dim, purplish outline of the Sequatchie heights were familiar.