stool at her feet, and, crossing her arms on her lap, looked up in her
face and said they must go home. The holiday had been long and happy,
but more of it would be loss of time. And home was Yorkburg. A visit to
Michigan first, long talks with her uncle and aunt, and then whatever
she was to do in life was to be done in Yorkburg. There was a little
money, something her uncle had invested for her when she first went to
live with him, until she decided on some sort of work. She would teach,
perhaps, and she would rather it would be in the little town in which
she had found a home when homeless and without a friend. She was not
willing to live with anybody or anywhere without work. She was anxious
to be about it. When could they start?

"And of course I started. Started just when she said. Did just what
she wanted and some things she didn't. Trotted on back to the old
pasture-land where old sheep should graze, and here I am to stay until
the call comes. Whoever thought you'd come back to Yorkburg, Gibbie
Gault! Back to shabby, sleepy, satisfied old Yorkburg! Well, you're
here! Mary Cary made you come. She loves it, always wanting to do
something for it; helping every broken-down old thing in it; laughing
at its funny ways, and keeping straight along in hers. And for what?
To-morrow everybody will be talking about the meeting to-night. About
other things she's doing. Small thanks she'll get, and if you tell her
so she'll say if you do things for thanks you don't deserve them. Bless
my soul, if it isn't raining!"

A sudden downpour of rain startled her, and she sat upright; then, at
a noise behind, turned and saw Mary Cary coming in the door.

"Oh, Miss Gibbie, I could spank you! I really could! You aren't even
five years old at times. It has turned almost cold, and raining hard,