Carter,"
he added, "it is odd, but the hero of this tale bears a remarkable
resemblance to you--I mean in the illustration. See here!" Mr. Morrison
held before him the picture of the young farmer as he knelt to release
the white rabbit. "This is your profile exactly. Don't you see it
yourself?"

Mr. Carter laughed. "I believe there is a faint likeness, which only
goes to show that I have a very ordinary countenance."

"That is just what you have not, which is the curious part of it," said
Mr. Morrison.

"Who wrote the story?" his companion asked.

"It is unsigned, and I have forgotten the name. She is a young lady of
whom my wife and daughter are very fond."

At St. Louis the travellers separated with cordial good-byes, feeling
like old friends, and Mr. Morrison rushed off to catch the train that
would take him to his destination some hours earlier than he had
expected to arrive.

Mr. Carter, gathering up his things in a more leisurely way, noticed
_The Young People's Journal_ lying on the seat, and put it in his bag.

CHAPTER NINETEENTH.

SURPRISES.

"Expect me Wednesday evening; will wire from St. Louis," so read the
telegram from San Francisco; and on Wednesday morning Frances had just
exclaimed over her oatmeal, "O dear, what a long day this will be!" when
the door opened and there stood a familiar figure, looking, oh, so
bright and well!

After some moments of rapturous hugs and incoherent remarks, the
traveller was allowed to have some breakfast, while Mrs. Morrison and
Frances looked on, too happy to eat.

"I had to surprise you, for a despatch sent after I left St. Louis would
have aroused you in the night, or else not have reached you till about
this time," Mr. Morrison explained as he helped himself to a muffin.

"Jack, how brown you are, and how well you look! It is a delight to see
you," said his wife.

"I never was better in my life; but I can't tell you how I have wished
for you and Frances."

"Next time you'll take me, won't you, father?" Frances asked.

"Yes, indeed. Wink, I believe you have grown a foot! You'll soon be a
young lady, and I don't like it; people will begin to think your mother
and I are elderly, when we are really in the heyday of youth."

In this irrelevant fashion conversation went on through the day. There
were all the winter experiences to be related, and Frances could not
rest till each person in the house had been brought in to see her
father. First of