walking arm in arm, and their numbers were continually increased;
for the girls were singing a three part song as they went along.

In front of the saddler's house (which, by the way, was now without
either sign-board or shop) they slackened their speed, as though they
especially desired their singing to be heard here. Perhaps they also
expected to see a face at one of the low windows; but they saw none and
soon moved onward.

When the last of the party had disappeared, a woman rose from the large
chair in the corner. She was scarcely more than half dressed, had
down-trodden slippers and disheveled hair. As she knew that no one lived
opposite and saw no one in the street, she ventured to approach the
window, and resting her arm on the sash she bowed her head in her hand
and became absorbed in thought. And as she stood thus she dreamily
listened to the harmonies which ever and anon floated back to her.

This chorus was a reminder that Magnhild had once loved song and had
believed that in it she had found her vocation. It was she who stood
there, and who although, it was Sunday, or perhaps just because it was
Sunday, had not thought it worth while to dress herself; it was six
o'clock in the afternoon.

She was roused by the rattling of carriage-wheels from another
direction. The steamer must have arrived. So accustomed was she to this
one break in the desert-stillness of the town, that she forgot she was
not dressed, and looked out to see who was coming. It proved to be two
ladies; one with a child in her arms and a sunshade; the other with a
fluttering veil, bright, eager eyes and a full face. She wore a Scotch
plaid traveling suit, and as the carriage drove rapidly past she nodded
to Magnhild, the travel-bronzed face all beaming; later she turned and
waved her gloved hand.

Who in all the world could this be? In her surprise, which with her
always gave place to embarrassment, Magnhild had drawn back into the
room. Who could it be?

There was something familiar that was struggling in vain for the
supremacy when the lady came running back toward the house. She moved on
briskly in her light traveling costume, and now springing up the steps
she soon stood in the door that was thrown open to receive her. She and
Magnhild looked at each other for a moment.

"Do you not know me?" asked the elegant lady, in the broadest dialect of
the parish.

"Roennaug?"

"Yes, of course!"

And then they embraced.

"My dear! I a