again. And
just think--I've been away for nine long months!"

"My, Miss Betty'll suttin'ly be glad tuh see yo' once moah, 'case she
am gittin' tuh a point now where yo' comp'ny means er pow'ful lot tuh
her. Axin' yo' pawdon, lil' missy, fo' mentionin' de subjeck, but our
Miss Betty ain't de woman she were befor' yo' went away las' fall.
No, indeedy! Dar's sumpthin' worryin' her, en I hain't nebber been
able tuh fin' out w'at hit is. But I reckon hit's some trouble 'bout
de ole place."

"I'll just bet that's it," said Jim. "You remember we discussed that
last summer just before we went sailing on the houseboat, Dorothy?"

"Yes," said the girl, a sad note creeping into her voice. "Something
or somebody had failed, and Aunt Betty's money was involved in some
way. I remember we feared she would have to sell Bellvieu, but
gradually the matter blew over, and when I left home for Oak Knowe I
had heard nothing of it for some time. The city of Baltimore has long
coveted Bellvieu, you know, as well as certain private firms or
individuals. The old place is wanted for some new and modern addition
I suppose, and they hope eventually to entice Aunt Betty into letting
it go. Oh, I do wish the train would hurry! I'm so anxious to take
the dear old lady in my arms and comfort her that I can scarcely
contain myself. Don't you think, Jim, there will be some way to save
her all this worry?"

"We can try," answered the boy, gravely. The way he pursed up his
lips, however, told Dorothy that he realized of what little
assistance a boy and girl would be in a matter involving many
thousands of dollars. "Let's wait and see. Perhaps there is nothing
to worry over after all."

"Lor' bress yo', chile--dem's de cheerfulest wo'ds I eber heered yo'
speak. An' pray God yo' may be right! De good Lord knows I hates tuh
see my Miss Betty a-worryin' en a-triflin' her life erway, w'en she'd
oughter be made comf'table en happy in her las' days. It hain't
accordin' tuh de Scriptur', chillen--it hain't accordin' tuh de
Scriptur'."

And with a sad shake of his head the faithful old darkey moved away.
A moment later they heard the door slam and knew that he had gone to
the colored folks' compartment in the car ahead.

"Ephy is loyalty personified," said Dorothy. "His skin is black as
ink, but his heart is as white as the driven snow."

The boy did not answer. He seemed lost in thought, his eyes riveted
on the passing landscape. Dorothy, too, looked o