," she thought, "they would have said I had
almost killed them. They really are hardening, and I'm so glad!"

"Oh, go on, Peggy!" cried Rose Barclay. "You are never going to stop
there! What became of the one with the wooden leg? We must know!"

On went the story, and on went the girls; the sun sank lower and lower,
the shadows crept longer and longer, the air grew cool and thin with
the coming night. The man with the wooden leg had chopped it up for
fuel, and Father Montfort had brought him and all the others in triumph
to the ranch, and set them down by the fire, when-- "Oh, dear me!" cried
Ethel Fair. "What a shame, girls! Here we are at the gate. I say! let's
go on a little farther, Peggy."

But Peggy was wise, and knew when to stop; besides, now that she was
near the house again, the anxiety and distress that had been lulled by
the walk and the story-telling, came back like a flood, and filled her
heart. They were crossing the lawn; what tidings would greet them at the
door? Some one was standing there now; Miss Cortlandt, was it? no, Miss
Russell herself. She was waiting for them with the news; would it be
good or bad? Peggy hung back for an instant; then she walked steadily
forward. "Quiet, girls!" was all she said. "I think Miss Russell has
something to tell us."

They were at the foot of the steps now; and Miss Russell was coming down
to meet them, running, the grave and stately woman, to meet them, like
a girl. Her hands were outstretched, her face was all aglow with joy,
the glad tears ran down her cheeks.

"It is over!" she whispered. "Softly, my dear children. Come softly in.
The crisis is over, and the child will live! Come with me, and let us
thank God together!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE END AND THE BEGINNING.

It was a month later. The first snow had fallen, and the lawn was white
with it, and all the trees and bushes powdered with frost. Coming out of
the class-room one day, her heart singing of sines and cosines and
tangents, Peggy found the Snowy and the Fluffy waiting for her at the
door, with radiant faces.

"Oh, what?" cried Peggy. "A letter?"

"Yes," said Gertrude. "It has just come, though the postmark is two or
three days ago. Where shall we go to read it? Your room, Peggy? So we
will; it's nearer than the Nest, and I know you can't wait."

Grace's letters were indeed things to wait for in those days. She had
gone to Lobelia's home with her; for, on coming to herself, the invali