on to strapping her trunk,
while her grandmother began to fill a paper box with slices of bread and
butter, and whatever else she could find, and thought Eloise would like
on the road.

"There, I've got it done at last, and hope it will hold till I get
there, the old lock is so shaky," Eloise said, rising to her feet, and
shedding back from her face a mass of soft, fluffy hair.

"Please don't put up any more lunch. I can never eat it all," she
continued, turning to her grandmother; then, as she saw the tears
dropping from the dim, old eyes, she sprang forward, and exclaimed,
"Don't cry. You know we promised we would both be brave, and it is not
so very long to Christmas. I shall certainly be home then, and Crompton
is not so very far away."

With a catching kind of sob, the elder woman smiled upon the bright face
uplifted to hers, and said: "I didn't mean to cry, and I am going to be
brave. I am glad you have the chance."

"So am I," the girl replied, her spirits rising as her grandmother's
tears were dried. "Ever since I was engaged to go to Crompton I have
felt an elation of spirits, as if something were going to come of it. If
it were not for leaving you, and I had heard from California, I should
be very happy. When a letter comes, forward it at once, and if necessary
I shall go there during the holidays, and bring her home. I am glad we
have her room all ready for her. I must see it once more."

Running upstairs she opened the door of a large chamber, and stood for a
moment inspecting it. Everything was plain and cheap, from the pine
washstand to the rag carpet on the floor; but it was cosey and
home-like, and the girl who had worked in it so much, papering and
painting it herself, with her grandmother's help, and then arranging
and rearranging the furniture until it suited her, thought it fine, and
said to herself, "She'll like it better than any room she ever had at
the grandest hotel. I wish she were here. Mother's room, good-by."

She kissed her hand to it and ran downstairs, for it was time to go. The
train was drawing up at the station, a short distance from her
grandmother's door, and in a few minutes she was speeding away towards
Crompton. At nearly the same hour Jack Harcourt was starting from New
York for his promised visit to Crompton. His letter has given some
insight into his character, but a look at his face will give a better.
It was not a very handsome face, but it was one which every man, and