e
been away too long."

"She is no better," replied Mildred, gently, "but then she is no worse.
Mrs. Wainwright will be so happy when she has her middle girl by her
side again. She's never gloomy, though. It's wonderful."

They drove on silently. Mildred took keen notice of every detail of
Grace's dress--the blue cloth gown and jacket, simple but modish, with
an air no Highland dressmaker could achieve, for who on earth out of
Paris can make anything so perfect as a Paris gown, in which a pretty
girl is sure to look like a dream? The little toque on the small head
was perched over braids of smooth brown hair, the gloves and boots were
well-fitting, and Grace Wainwright carried herself finely. This was a
girl who could walk ten miles on a stretch, ride a wheel or a horse at
pleasure, drive, play tennis or golf, or do whatever else a girl of the
period can. She was both strong and lovely, one saw that.

What could she do besides? Mildred, with the reins lying loosely over
old Whitefoot's back, thought and wondered. There was opportunity for
much at the Brae.

Lawrence and Grace chatted eagerly as the old pony climbed hills and
descended valleys, till at last he paused at a rise in the path, then
went on, and there, the ground dipping down like the sides of a cup, in
the hollow at the bottom lay the straggling village.

"Yes," said Grace, "I remember it all. There is the post-office, and
Doremus' store, and the little inn, the church with the white spire, the
school-house, and the Manse. Drive faster, please, Mildred. I want to
see my mother. Just around that fir grove should be the old home of
Wishing-Brae."

Tears filled Grace's eyes. Her heart beat fast.

The Wainwrights' house stood at the end of a long willow-bordered lane.
As the manse carryall turned into this from the road a shout was heard
from the house. Presently a rush of children tearing toward the
carriage, and a chorus of "Hurrah, here is Grace!" announced the delight
of the younger ones at meeting their sister. Mildred drew up at the
doorstep, Lawrence helped Grace out, and a fair-haired older sister
kissed her and led her to the mother sitting by the window in a great
wheeled chair.

The Raeburns hurried away. As they turned out of the lane they met Mr.
Burden with his cart piled high with Grace's trunks.

"Where shall my boxes be carried, sister?" said Grace, a few minutes
later. She was sitting softly stroking her mother's thin white hand,
th