et. When Hannah, the
cook, who never had known Miss Helena, went to the parlor an hour later
on some errand to her old mistress, she discovered that this stranger
guest must be a very important person. She had never seen the
tea-table look exactly as it did that night, and in the parlor itself
there were fresh blossoming boughs in the old East India jars, and
lilies in the paneled hall, and flowers everywhere, as if there were
some high festivity.

Miss Pyne sat by the window watching, in her best dress, looking
stately and calm; she seldom went out now, and it was almost time for
the carriage. Martha was just coming in from the garden with the
strawberries, and with more flowers in her apron. It was a bright cool
evening in June, the golden robins sang in the elms, and the sun was
going down behind the apple-trees at the foot of the garden. The
beautiful old house stood wide open to the long-expected guest.

"I think that I shall go down to the gate," said Miss Pyne, looking at
Martha for approval, and Martha nodded and they went together slowly
down the broad front walk.

There was a sound of horses and wheels on the roadside turf: Martha
could not see at first; she stood back inside the gate behind the white
lilac-bushes as the carriage came. Miss Pyne was there; she was
holding out both arms and taking a tired, bent little figure in black
to her heart. "Oh, my Miss Helena is an old woman like me!" and Martha
gave a pitiful sob; she had never dreamed it would be like this; this
was the one thing she could not bear.

"Where are you, Martha?" called Miss Pyne. "Martha will bring these
in; you have not forgotten my good Martha, Helena?" Then Mrs. Dysart
looked up and smiled just as she used to smile in the old days. The
young eyes were there still in the changed face, and Miss Helena had
come.

That night Martha waited in her lady's room just as she used, humble
and silent, and went through with the old unforgotten loving services.
The long years seemed like days. At last she lingered a moment trying
to think of something else that might be done, then she was going
silently away, but Helena called her back. She suddenly knew the whole
story and could hardly speak.

"Oh, my dear Martha!" she cried, "won't you kiss me good-night? Oh,
Martha, have you remembered like this, all these long years!"

THE COON DOG.

I.

In the early dusk of a warm September evening the bats were flitting to
and