or a completer one.

But hark! was that the sound of wheels? Yes; they were coming.

"Cousin Wealthy!" cried the girl, running to the door. "Rose! Bubble!
Martha! Mrs. Brett! Benny! Come out, all of you! The stage is here!"

Out they came, all running, all out of breath, save Miss Wealthy, who
knew the exact number of steps that would bring her to the exact middle
of the piazza, and took these steps with her usual gentle precision of
movement. She had no sooner taken up the position which she felt to be
the proper one for her, than round the corner came the Bywood stage,--a
long, lumbering, ramshackle vehicle, in which sat Mrs. Murray, a
kind-looking nurse, and the twelve convalescent children who were to
have the first delights of the Country Home.

At sight of them Bubble began to wave his hat violently. "Hooray!" he
shouted. "Three cheers for the young uns!"

"Hooray!" echoed Benny, flapping his hands about, as he had no hat to
wave.

The children set up a feeble shout in reply, and waved heads, arms, and
legs indiscriminately. Then ensued a scene of joyous confusion. The
little ones were lifted out, kissed, and welcomed; their bundles
followed; and for a few minutes the quiet place was filled with a very
Babel of voices.

High above them all rose the clarion tones of Benny, explaining to a
former fellow-patient his present position in life. "I don't lives
here!" he said; "I lives a little way off. I's ve boy of ve house where
I lives, and I takes care of a whole lot of womenfolks, and Jim Maria
helps me, and vere's anover boy who does fings for me. It's bully, and
I'm goin' to stay vere all my life long."

Mrs. Murray looked quickly at Miss Wealthy. "Does he know of his
mother's death?" she asked in a low tone.

"No!" replied Miss Wealthy. "He has almost forgotten her, poor little
lad! I fear she was not very kind to him. And I have decided to keep
him, Mrs. Murray, and to give him a happy childhood, and then send him
to a good school. He is a most lovable child, and it will be a privilege
to have him, especially as my dear young relative is to leave me soon."

Both looked instinctively toward Hildegarde, who was standing, flushed
and radiant, the centre of a group of children, who clustered round
her, pulling at her hands and clinging to her gown.

"What's the name of this place?" one little fellow was asking her. "I
like this place! What is its name?"

"It is called Joyous Gard!" replied Hildegarde.