She had caught sight of a wide-brimmed gray hat over the heads of the crowd, and a face, bronzed and handsome, almost as dear in its familiar outlines as Jack's or Holland's.

Her carefully rehearsed actions flew to the winds, as, regardless of the strangers all about, she sprang from the carriage and ran along bareheaded in the sun.

And Phil, glancing around him for the bridal party that was to meet him, was surprised beyond measure when this little apparition from the Arizona Wigwam caught him by the hand.
"Bless my soul, it's the little Vicar!" he exclaimed.

"Why, it's like getting back home to see _you_! And how you've grown, and how really civilized you are!" So he _had_ remembered her.

He was glad to see her.