“Do you think so?” said Jennie, earnestly.

“Indeed, I do.  You know the promise, ’If ye ask anything in My name, believing’?  But I suppose I must go down,” and Katherine turned to leave the room.

Jennie stood still, thinking deeply for a moment.  Then, before her friend could reach the stairs, she called out, the old cheery ring in her tones: 

“You needn’t send up anything, you blessing; I’ll wash my face and come down.  I don’t care if my eyes are red; you all love me and won’t mind.”

So, after a little, this child of impulse joined the family below, her face radiant with happiness, in spite of the evidences of recent tears, and everybody exhibited the liveliest interest in the wonderful sequel to her life of mystery, and expressed, most cordially, their joy in view of her good fortune in finding some one akin to her.

“Tell me what he looks like, honey.  I’m just expiring with curiosity and impatience to see this great magician who has transformed everything for you,” said Sadie, with her good-natured drawl, after Jennie had given them a more detailed account of the interview with her relative.

“You just wait till you see this ‘magician,’ as you call him,” retorted the girl, with a proud little toss of her head.  “Anyone can tell, with half a glance, that he’s an out-and-out gentleman.  And, don’t you know”—­with a long sigh of content—­“it is such a comfortable feeling, for I’ve often had a very lively squirming time all by myself when I’ve tried to focus my mental kodak upon some imaginary shade of my ancestors to see what he was like.”

It was a very happy company that congregated on the verandas the next morning to complete the preparations for the reunion of the afternoon.

Dr. Stanley and the Seabrooks came over again to help arrange flowers, hang the lanterns, etc., and they were no less rejoiced than her other friends when informed of Jennie’s happy discoveries of the previous day.

“What are we going to do without our ’Jennie Wild’?” smilingly inquired Prof.  Seabrook, as he laid a friendly hand on her curly black head.  “I am afraid a good many tongues will trip a good many times before they get used to ‘Miss Mildred Arnold Jennison.’”

“Well, professor, you’ll have the same Jennie—­at least for the next two years; for I’m never going to be called anything else by my old friends,” returned the girl, in a positive tone.  “I don’t quite know how we are going to manage about the name,” she added, reflectively.  “I’m free to admit, though”—­with an arch look—­“I think my new trimmings are rather swell; but I can’t give up the Jennie.  I’m sure Jennie Jennison wouldn’t do—­too much Jennie, you know.  But I’m not going to worry about that to-day; I’m too happy, and there’s too much to be done.  Mrs. Minturn, where is Katherine?” she suddenly inquired, with a roguish glance at a stalwart form that was restlessly pacing the veranda.