are," he said, as the train slackened and stood still. He took
his own limp bag and Sylvia's plump, rubbed old one, and they moved
down the aisle and out upon the platform.

"There's Lem." Jacob Johnson moved across the platform, and Sylvia
followed him to where stood a two-seated wagon with a pair of strong
horses. The driver leaned one arm on his leg as he looked passively at
Sylvia. He wore a sweater and a felt hat, and had on blue overalls the
color of his eyes. He was older than his employer, and a fringe of
white whiskers surrounded his red, weather-beaten face.

"Howdy, Thinkright," he said, nodding as the couple approached.

"How are you, Cap'n Lem? This is my little cousin, Miss Lacey."

"Glad to see ye, Miss Lacey. Ye've got hahnsome weather," observed the
old man. "Mawdrate, too, to what it has ben. Apple-trees hev all bust
out."

"Yes, you must have had a fresh trip in this morning," responded
Thinkright, as he saw to having Sylvia's trunk and the bags put on the
wagon. At last he climbed in beside his guest. A slap of the reins set
the heavy horses trotting deliberately.

Cap'n Lem sat halfway around in his seat in order to converse on farm
matters, and Sylvia enjoyed the spring beauty about her as they drove
out of the little town and took the country road.

"How's the jedge?" asked the captain at last.

"He's well. Told me to tell you he'd be after you for lobsters before
long."

The old man gave a toothless smile. "Miss Lacey smaht?" he inquired.

"I suppose so. I didn't see her this time."

Sylvia's eyes began to look startled and questioning. Old Lem met her
gaze. "Ye've got the same name," he remarked curiously, as the fact
occurred to him, "same as Miss Marthy. Miss Marthy ain't no kin to you,
is she, Thinkright?"

"No, except through this child. This little girl is a link."

"The missin' link, eh?" returned Cap'n Lem. "Well, all I kin say is she
don't look it," and his shoulders twitched with delight. "The missin'
link," he repeated from time to time, the utterance being always
followed by a fresh convulsion of mirth as his sea-blue eyes roved to
the visitor's grave face.

"Do they come here, Cousin Jacob?" asked Sylvia uneasily, under cover
of the rattle of the wagon, "Uncle Calvin and Aunt Martha?"

"Yes, sometimes."

"Will they be likely to, soon?" asked the girl, her face hardening.

Her cousin shook his head, and she saw compassion in his shining gaze.

"Don't fret about t