e up her bed, or dust a room again,
and she pined for the old nursery, for Phil's whistle, for Elsie and the
paper-dolls, and to feel Katy's arms round her once more. Her letters
showed the growing home-sickness. Dr. Carr felt that the experiment had
lasted long enough. So he discovered that he had business in Boston, and
one fine September day, as Johnnie was forlornly poring over her lesson
in moral philosophy, the door opened and in came Papa. Such a shriek as
she gave! Miss Inches happened to be out, and they had the house to
themselves for a while.

"So you are glad to see me?" said Papa, when Johnnie had dried her eyes
after the violent fit of crying which was his welcome, and had raised
her head from his shoulder. His own eyes were a little moist, but he
spoke gaily.

"Oh, Papa, _so_ glad! I was just longing for you to come. How did it
happen?"

"I had business in this part of the world, and I thought you might be
wanting your winter clothes."

Johnnie's face fell.

"_Must_ I stay all winter?" she said in a trembling voice. "Aren't you
going to take me home?"

"But I thought you wanted to be 'adopted,' and to go to Europe, and have
all sorts of fine things happen to you."

"Oh, Papa, don't tease me. Mamma Marion is ever so kind, but I want to
come back and be your little girl again. Please let me. If you don't, I
shall _die_--" and Johnnie wrung her hands.

"We'll see about it," said Dr. Carr. "Don't die, but kiss me and wash
your face. It won't do for Miss Inches to come home and find you with
those impolite red rims to your eyes."

"Come upstairs, too, and see my room, while I wash 'em," pleaded
Johnnie.

All the time that Johnnie was bathing her eyes, Papa walked leisurely
about looking at the pictures. His mouth wore a furtive smile.

"This is a sweet thing," he observed, "this one with the pickled
asparagus and the donkey, or is it a cat?"

"Papa! it's a pig!"

Then they both laughed.

I think there was a little bit of relief mixed with Miss Inches'
disappointment at hearing of Johnnie's decision. The child of theory was
a delightful thing to have in the house, but this real child, with moods
and tempers and a will of her own, who preferred chromos to Raphael, and
pined after "tag," tried her considerably. They parted, however, most
affectionately.

"Good-by, dear Mamma Marion," whispered Johnnie. "You've been just as
good as good to me, and I love you so much,--but you know I am _used_