and slender, and pale, with blue eyes and yellow hair, and so
very fragile that it seemed as though a passing zephyr might almost blow
her away.

"How do you do," she said, wearily. "I thought you were never coming."

"I was busy," said Harlan, in extenuation. "Will you come in?" She was
evidently a friend of Dorothy's, and, as such, demanded proper
consideration.

The invitation was needless, however, for even as he spoke, she brushed
past him, and went into the parlour. "I'm so tired," she breathed. "I
walked up that long hill."

"You shouldn't have done it," returned Harlan, standing first on one foot
and then on the other. "Couldn't you find the stage?"

"I didn't look for it. I never had any ambition to go on the stage," she
concluded, with a faint smile. "Where is Uncle Ebeneezer?"

"No friend of Dorothy's," thought Harlan, shifting to the other foot.
"Uncle Ebeneezer," he said, clearing his throat, "is at peace."

"What do you mean?" demanded the girl, sinking into one of the haircloth
chairs. "Where is Uncle Ebeneezer?"

"Uncle Ebeneezer is dead," explained Harlan, somewhat tartly. Then, as he
remembered the utter ruin of his work, he added, viciously, "never having
known him intimately, I can't say just where he is."

She leaned back in her chair, her face as white as death. Harlan thought
she had fainted, when she relieved his mind by bursting into tears. He was
more familiar with salt water, but, none the less, the situation was
awkward.

There were no signs of Dorothy, so Harlan, in an effort to be consoling,
took the visitor's cold hands in his. "Don't," he said, kindly; "cheer up.
You are among friends."

"I have no friends," she answered, between sobs. "I lost the last when my
dear mother died. She made me promise, during her last illness, that if
anything happened to her, I would come to Uncle Ebeneezer. She said she
had never imposed upon him and that he would gladly take care of me, for
her sake. I was ill a long, long time, but as soon as I was able to, I
came, and now--and now----"

"Don't," said Harlan, again, awkwardly patting her hands, and deeply
touched by the girl's distress. "We are your friends. You can stay here
just as well as not. I am married and----"

Upon his back, Harlan felt eyes. He turned quickly, and saw Dorothy
standing in the door--quite a new Dorothy, indeed; very tall, and stately,
and pale.

Through sheer nervousness, Mr. Carr laughed--an unfortunate, high-pit