, as though just aware that she was really present.

"Why, Olive, you--seems to me--I don't know; but then, aren't you
changed a good deal, someway?"

"I don't know; do you think I am?" asked Olive feeling the color creep
into her cheeks, at the honest childish question.

"Yes, it seems to me you are;" and Jean looked undecided whether to go
on. "You look so nice and pretty, and then you don't seem a bit cross;
is it because you are glad to see me?"

"That's just exactly it," cried Olive, moved to hide her face.

"You don't know how glad I am to see you Jeanie, and if I'm cross a
single once while I'm here, you may scold me."

"Oh, Olive," and Jean laughed merrily. "The idea of my scolding you,
that's too funny. Don't you ever get cross any more?"

"I try not, but then I do a great many times, I expect; I don't think I
will now though, for I'm so glad to be with you, and find that you are
just the same little Jeanie, that mama and the girls love and want to
see so much. Why Kat said she expected you would have on long dresses,
and be a young lady."

"What a funny old girl she is," cried Jean. "I'd give anything to hear
her laugh once, it always sounds so pretty."

The rest of the drive was taken up in hasty chattering, as though they
were going to be separated in just a few moments, and would leave
something untold; and Olive never noticed that they had entered some
tall gates, and were going up a white gravel road that wound in and out
of the velvet-like lawn; and had quite forgotten her trepidation at
meeting Mr. Congreve, until they came to a stand still, and James,
throwing open the carriage door, revealed the great entrance portico,
the open doors and the cool dark interior to Congreve Hall.

"Where is Uncle Ridley?" was Jean's first question, as James lifted her
out and handed her cane, while Olive followed.

"I do not know, Miss Jean," James answered; but at that moment, Mr.
Congreve became visible, advancing through the wide hall, and with her
heart in a little jump, Olive passed Jean, entered the door, and met
him, with outstretched hand.

"How do you do, Uncle Ridley?"

"Uncle Ridley! God bless my soul, just listen," cried the old man, the
quizzical look on his face changing to one of blank delighted amazement,
"Why, how do you do, my dear child; I didn't know but what you'd take my
head off the first thing; you've changed a great deal; yes, bless my
soul you have, but it's very becoming, it is