d-by--old friend!"

She was a slim maid to oppose so colossal a resistance as she did to
anything in the least suggestive to sentiment in the leave-taking. Oppose
it, however, did the small hand which drew itself away with decision, the
pretty lips which smiled again that coolly friendly smile, the blue-black
eyes which were steady as ever in their straight look. Max, peering in
upon the two to tell Jarvis to come along, saw his sister break down in
her self-command, but only at sight of himself. As Jarvis turned away she
ran after him to reach beyond him and clutch her brother's arm for one
quick pressure, with the low cry, "Oh, Max--_please--please_--write to
me often!"

As Max jumped off, Jarvis turned again. Sally was upon the platform.
"That almost makes me wish I were a brother," said he rapidly, from the
bottom step, looking straight up at her. He prepared to drop off. "_But
not quite_" he added--and swung himself off and out of sight.

Back in her berth, the little electric side-light on, Sally opened her
bundles. Their contents made her feel like laughing and crying both
together, all by herself, there on the fast train flying southward
through the night. Janet's superb grapes, Mrs. Ferry's preserved Canton
ginger, Donald Ferry's little book of verse, with the ribbon mark opening
it at "My Garden," all pleased her greatly, each in its way. Then there
was a fascinating little traveller's work-box from Josephine, a letter
writing-case from Mrs. Burnside, an ink-pencil from Max, a package of
current magazines from Alec, a box of chocolates from Bob. The cards and
merry messages accompanying these remembrances made pleasant reading, and
Sally put them all together in her handbag, that she might look them over
many times.

Jarvis's box she did not open till the last. Why, might be a subject for
speculation. Does one leave the most interesting letter or package till
the last--or does one eagerly open it first? When everything else had
been disposed of Sally's fingers untied the cord slowly, she lifted the
cover with apparent reluctance, she drew aside the sheltering sheets of
green tissue as if she feared to disclose that which they protected. But
then, when the bright light at her side shone in upon fresh tints of
pink and white and lilac, she drew one deep breath and buried her face
in the mass.

"Sweet peas!" she murmured, and shut her eyes and thought of her garden,
lying forsaken and desolate in the Decembe