away, lest she betray her tears.

"It is your humble servant," acknowledged Dora.

"Well, my humble servant, listen to me: I want you to pack my things
into that old trunk of father's. And put my typewriter into its case,
and screw the cover down. And when I send you word, you'll bring both
to me. But--no one is to know where you come."

Dora's eyes bulged with the very mystery of it--the excitement. "Miss
Susan," she vowed gravely, "I shall follow your instructions if my life
is spared!"

"And now--bring the little one."

"In all my orphanage experience," confided Dora, delaying a moment to
impart this important news, "I've never heard so much mother-talk.
Since last night, she's not stopped for one _second_! I gave her a hot
lemonade to get her to sleep. And she was awake this morning when it
was still dark. I think"--with feeling--"that if she doesn't get her
mother pretty soon, she'll--she'll----" But words failed her. She
wagged her head and went out.

Sue stood for a moment, looking straight before her, her eyes wide and
grave. Presently, a smile lighted them, and softened all her face.
She turned. Her hat and the long coat were on the bench with the toys.
She went to put them on, buttoning the coat carefully over the silver
gown. Next, she took from a pocket the ring that her brother had given
her. She held it up for the sun; to shine upon it. Then, very
deliberately, she slipped it upon the third finger of her left hand.

A movement within the house, a patter of small feet at the drawing-room
door, and Sue turned. There stood a little girl in a dress of faded
gingham. Down her back by a string hung a shabby hat. But her shoes
were new and shining.

In one hand she carried a doll.

She glanced up and around--at the ivy-grown wall of the Church, at the
stained-glass windows glowing in the light, at the darting birds, the
wedding-bell, the massed flowers and palms; and down at the grass, so
neat and vividly green, and cool. Last of all, she looked at Sue.

Sue knelt, and held out both hands, smilingly, invitingly; then waited,
dropping her arms to her sides again.

Barbara came nearer, but paused once more, and the brown eyes studied
the gray. This for a long moment, when the child smiled back at Sue,
as if reassured, and nodded confidingly.

"Oh, this is a beautiful garden," she said. "And after today, I'm
going to live where there's flowers all the time! My mother, she's
come b