head in her hands, and they could see that she was
crying very hard. Whether it was through sheer thankfulness because of
what she had heard concerning the presence of the child, or from some
other reason, Phil could not quite understand. But he believed it was
all going to turn out splendidly.

Presently she looked up, and smiled bravely through her tears. Phil
could see that a new happiness had come upon her; and he guessed the
cause.

"I am Mazie's own mother," she said, to the astonishment of Lub, who up
to then had not been able to figure things out correctly; "there was a
terrible misunderstanding between my husband and myself. The court gave
me charge of our child. His love for Mazie was an absorbing passion,
even greater than my own. One day she disappeared, and we had reason to
suspect that he had taken her away, so that she could be with him. Ever
since I have sought far and wide to find them, but until lately without
avail."

She stopped speaking, and seemed to be thinking for a minute; then went
on, for of course none of the boys had ventured to say a single word:

"Of late I have learned through the death of a wicked person that I had
wronged my husband dreadfully. I am only waiting to see him to ask his
forgiveness; and unless he has lost all his love for me we may undo the
wretched past, and start all over again, with Mazie the bond between
us."

She had said quite enough for them to understand. Phil was wondering
whether they might not have to construct another litter in order to
carry the lady all the way to the distant camp.

"Oh! have no fears for me," she hastened to tell him, when he started to
speak of such a thing. "I feel as though I could walk from now to
sunset, and not grow weary, knowing that Mazie, and Alwyn, are at the
end of the trail. We cannot start too soon to satisfy my yearning heart.
I could almost fly as though I had wings."

And, indeed, there was no difficulty in her keeping up with them. The
new hope of happiness, after all these dreary months of wretchedness,
buoyed her heart up as possibly nothing else could have done.

Before noon had arrived they drew near the cabin under the hemlocks and
birches. The sky had cleared, and the sun shone warmly. All nature
looked bright again after the storm.

"Listen!" cried the lady, suddenly.

It was the sweet childish voice of Mazie they heard, singing one of her
little songs, which the boys had never tired of hearing. Imagine h