ary. And Mrs. Moss wondered how
she could get the ear of the lady on the porch.

She could see her through the window. Now she saw that she had a mass
of wool, red, white, and blue, in her lap and was knitting a
curious-looking article, and it came to her that perhaps she, too, was
out of her mind? Perhaps this was a mental sanitarium? True, she had
inquired for the _parsonage_. Could it be that in the cultured East
that was a new euphemism for insane asylum?

But that idea was too ludicrous, and suddenly struck by the absurdity,
she laughed out. Her laugh was so merry and infectious as to lay his
suspicion at once, and he couldn't help joining her. And then,
somehow, each understood the misapprehension of the other, and they
laughed the harder.

Even as they laughed, there was a light step on the veranda outside,
and some one cried _Elsie_ in a tone of warm welcome.

Mr. Middleton had risen. "Shall I tell her who it is, or just send her
in, saying that it's an old friend?" he asked in a low voice.

Her heart was beating violently. "Don't tell her who it is," she
begged weakly and shrank back as he opened the door.

He closed it behind him and she waited breathlessly. She forgot
everything except that she was to see Elsie. At the first sound she
sprang to her feet, and as the door opened--not with Elsie's
characteristic fling--she held out her arms.

"Elsie!" she cried, then started violently.

A total stranger stood before her, a pretty girl with a sweet face and
long light-brown curls hanging from her neck.

"And who are you?" she cried wildly. "Am I mad or is this a lunatic
asylum?"

For a moment the girl stared at her with sweet perplexed face. Was she
another patient, then? thought the distressed woman.

"I am Mrs. Moss," she said in a sort of desperation. "Pray tell me who
you are and where I am?"

All the pretty color left the girl's face. She stepped back and leaned
against the door.

"This is the parsonage," she faltered. "I am Elsie Pritchard Marley.
Your Elsie is in New York with my cousin. We exchanged."

CHAPTER XXXI

On the Saturday afternoon following the arrival of Mrs. Moss at
Enderby, Miss Pritchard and Elsie had just seated themselves in the
former's cool, pleasant room for the purpose of discussing summer
clothes for the latter. A maid came to the door and brought in a card.

"Mrs. Richard Moss! I'm sure I don't know any such person; do you,
Elsie?" Miss