ight spot in each cheek, and an eager
welcome in her eye. She had gained ground during the autumn, but in the
winter it had all been lost; and now the time had come when Richard
raised her in his arms, and had to carry her--grown so light--down to
the cab, wherein he tenderly placed her, and took her for one of the
drives of which she was never weary.

It seemed a strange taste, but her desire was always for the same spot--
the little wood where the fallen tree was lying. Here, on sunny days,
she would sit for an hour, while he read to her; and then the quiet,
slow journey was taken back, when the little ceremony had to be gone
through in reverse, there was a grateful pressure of the hand, and
Richard took his leave.

Twenty or thirty times was this little excursion made, and always with a
foreboding on Richard's part that it was to be the last. But still she
lingered, brightening with the balmy April weather that came by fits,
and then fading again under the chilling blasts.

By some means Netta had informed herself of the return of the Rea family
to town for the season, and she prepared to execute a little plan that
had been long deferred. She had possessed herself of the note sent by
Fin--the note which Richard had let fall. Probably Mrs Jenkles was the
bearer of her messages, and had obtained the information she required.
Suffice it that Tiny Rea, now somewhat recovered, but still pale and
dejected, received one morning a note, which she read, and then placed
in her mother's hands.

It was as follows:--

"I have heard so often of your beauty, goodness, and your many acts of
kindness, that I have been tempted to ask you to come once and see me
before I pass away. I would say _pray_ come, but I think your gentle
heart will listen to my simple appeal. Come to me, and say good-bye.

"Netta Lane."

Here followed the address.

"It's some poor creature in great distress, my dear, who has heard of
us. We'll go this afternoon, and take her something."

"Would you go, mamma?" faltered Tiny, whose heart told her whom the
letter was from.

"Certainly, my dear. I shouldn't rest to-night if I'd left such an
appeal as that unanswered, let alone enjoy our At Home; though there
isn't much enjoyment to be got out of those affairs, with everybody
drinking tea on the stairs, and ten times as many people as we've room
for."

"Then you would go, mamma?"

"Certainly, darling. It's an awkward time for he