ow she's older, she might like to know
about us. When I think how few old friends anybody has left at our
age, I suppose it may be just the same with her as it is with me;
perhaps she would like to know how we came into life together. But I
've had a great advantage in seeing her, an' I can always fancy her
goin' on, while she don't know nothin' yet about me, except she may
feel my love stayin' her heart sometimes an' not know just where it
comes from. An' I dream about our being together out in some pretty
fields, young as ever we was, and holdin' hands as we walk along. I 'd
like to know if she ever has that dream too. I used to have days when
I made believe she did know, an' was comin' to see me," confessed the
speaker shyly, with a little flush on her cheeks; "and I 'd plan what I
could have nice for supper, and I was n't goin' to let anybody know she
was here havin' a good rest, except I 'd wish you, Almira Todd, or dear
Mis' Blackett would happen in, for you 'd know just how to talk with
her. You see, she likes to be up in Scotland, right out in the wild
country, better than she does anywhere else."

"I 'd really love to take her out to see mother at Green Island," said
Mrs. Todd with a sudden impulse.

"Oh, yes! I should love to have you," exclaimed Mrs. Martin, and then
she began to speak in a lower tone. "One day I got thinkin' so about
my dear Queen," she said, "an' livin' so in my thoughts, that I went to
work an' got all ready for her, just as if she was really comin'. I
never told this to a livin' soul before, but I feel you 'll understand.
I put my best fine sheets and blankets I spun an' wove myself on the
bed, and I picked some pretty flowers and put 'em all round the house,
an' I worked as hard an' happy as I could all day, and had as nice a
supper ready as I could get, sort of telling myself a story all the
time. She was comin' an' I was goin' to see her again, an' I kep' it
up until nightfall; an' when I see the dark an' it come to me I was all
alone, the dream left me, an' I sat down on the doorstep an' felt all
foolish an' tired. An', if you 'll believe it, I heard steps comin',
an' an old cousin o' mine come wanderin' along, one I was apt to be shy
of. She was n't all there, as folks used to say, but harmless enough
and a kind of poor old talking body. And I went right to meet her when
I first heard her call, 'stead o' hidin' as I sometimes did, an' she
come in dreadful willin', an' w