I stayed away from the best one last summer without breaking my heart." "Last summer I thought you too young for large parties, but this year I have let you go--and, indeed, I do not forbid your going this time.
Understand that clearly, my child.

I have only fancy, not reason, to set against your wishes." "Mother, you are not fanciful.

Since you wish me to stay at home, I wish it also.

Forget the picnic altogether." She sprang up, kissed her mother's forehead, and darted away to the further end of the verandah, bursting out into a gay song as she leaned over to gather a spray of pale prairie roses that climbed up the trellis-work.

The pretty scentless blossoms were but just caught, when a rattling of wheels was heard on the stony lane which led from the high-road to the cottage.
"Who can be coming now?
Margery is out, mamma, and the gate is fastened; I must go and open it." She darted into the house on her errand--for the principal entrance was in the gable end of the building--but before she had had time to cross the parlour and hall to the outer door, the little garden-gate opened, and a very pretty woman in a grey cloak and straw hat came through, and up the verandah steps with the air of a person perfectly at home.
Mrs.Costello rose to meet her with an exclamation.
"Mrs.Bellairs! We never thought of it being you.