On Monday Clematis found a big, blue envelope, with the other mail.

“I guess you have a letter for your own self this time,” said Mr. Morse, as he handed her the mail.

Clematis did not stop to look at the little fishes by the shore. She hurried straight home.

It was a letter for her own self. Miss Rose sent it to her.

“Oh, I wish I had learned to read. Please read mine first, Mrs. Alder?”

“Do you think that is polite?” asked Mrs. Alder.

“No’m, but you get lots of letters.”

“That is true. Well, let us see.”

She opened the envelope, while Clematis got close to her side.

“That is a good letter for a little girl to get, I am sure. Now run out and play, while I read my letters.”

Clematis went out, rather slowly. The letter made her think again of the end of her stay, and she was sad.

But the sun was bright, the breeze was cool, and the birds sang merrily.

She saw Mr. Alder down in the garden, and ran to him.

“Can I help you, Mr. Alder?”

“I think not. I am weeding late carrots, and I think you would not know them from weeds.”

“I should know them, honestly. Just let me try a little bit.”

“Well, then, take this little trowel. Make the earth loose around them, and then pull the weeds out with your fingers.”

Clematis kneeled in the soft earth, and began to work with the trowel.

She weeded the row across from Mr. Alder, where he could see what she was doing.

“Well, I declare! You are a real gardener.” Mr. Alder patted her shoulder, and praised her well when she had done several feet of her row.

The little green tops of the carrots all stood straight and clean. Every weed was gone, but no carrots were hurt.

“I told you I could do it. You did not believe me, did you?”

Clematis smiled happily.

“Well, I do now. I never saw any one do better.”

So the man and the little girl worked side by side beneath the August sun.

The smell of the warm earth, and the fresh growing things all around her, made Clematis breathe deeply.

She could hear the birds singing, and see the mountains, across the lakes.

While she was hard at work, she almost forgot to be sad because she was going back on the Saturday train.

“Just look at that child,” said Mrs. Alder, when they went in to wash for dinner. “Has she been weeding in her good clothes?”

“She has weeded two whole rows of carrots, I know that much. I’ll get her some new clothes when those wear out. She is as much help at weeding as a man.”

Clematis was as proud of that, as Deborah was with her first rat. In the afternoon Mrs. Alder found her a pair of small overalls. These covered her dress and kept her clean.

It was a happy child that came in at evening. She had worked steadily, in the hot sun and the breeze, and had finished all the carrots.

“You don’t know how much help that has been, Clematis,” said Mr. Alder. “It tires my back to weed carrots, and now they are all done.”

“I will weed tomorrow, too,” she said, happy with her praise.

There was plenty to do, as there always is on a farm, and Clematis was busy all day.

“I don’t see how she learns so quickly,” exclaimed Mr. Alder, when he was telling Mr. Ladd about her.

“I suppose it is because she naturally loves it,” he answered. “It seems too bad that she couldn’t live here in the country, she seems to love it so.”

“Yes. I wish Mrs. Alder was better, and took to children more. Clematis is clumsy in the house, but out in the garden she is right at home.”

So the days went on, with sunshine and clouds, and Saturday came nearer and nearer.

“Clematis, what have you been doing to the calendar in your room?” asked Mrs. Alder, at dinner on Friday.

“I was just looking to see how many days till Saturday.”

“Well, you needn’t muss it up that way.”

Every morning Clematis had taken it down and counted the days with her fingers.

Friday evening she did not eat much supper, and was very silent.

“Longing to get back home, I guess,” said Mrs. Alder. “Well, dear, you will be back with the other children tomorrow. I know what it is. I was homesick myself when I was a child.”

Clematis did not answer. She didn’t know how to tell what it was that troubled her, so she said nothing.

The stars were bright, and the tiny moon was low in the sky, before the weary eyes closed in sleep.

Clematis had been thinking, and thinking. Tomorrow was Saturday.

Early in the morning she was awake again, by the window.

She leaned her head on her hands, and began to think again.

“That is what he said,” she repeated, half aloud.

“That is just what he said. If he didn’t mean it, why did he say it?”

At the breakfast table, Mrs. Alder noticed how pale her cheeks were.

“Try to eat some toast, dear,” said Mrs. Alder. “You will soon be home again. Only a few hours more now.”

Clematis raised her eyes, and gave Mrs. Alder a strange look.

“That child does beat all,” said Mrs. Alder, after breakfast. “She seems to be thinking a lot, but she keeps as quiet as a stone jug.”

“She is thinking; you may be sure of that,” Mr. Alder replied.

All the morning Clematis went about silently, except when she was in the loft with Deborah. Then she talked.

“I shan’t be afraid. I am a big girl, Debby, and I shan’t be a mite afraid.”

Deborah could not speak, but she snuggled up close, and purred, so Clematis knew just what she meant.

“Be sure to have all your things ready, Clematis,” called Mrs. Alder.

“We shall have an early dinner, for Mr. Ladd will be here about one o’clock to take you to the station.”

“Yes’m,” said Clematis, and she went slowly to her room.

Before long, all was ready, and dinner was on the table.

“Now, let’s eat a big dinner. I roasted a chicken especially for you.”

How good the roast chicken smelled! There were baked potatoes, and peas, and beans, too.

Clematis was hungry now. She ate, and ate, and ate.

“Good girl.” Mr. Alder patted her on the head. “Travelers must be well fed.”

“Be sure to wash all the blueberry off your mouth,” added Mrs. Alder, as Clematis got down.

Clematis went to the sink and washed her face and hands. Then she went to the back door.

“Don’t forget Deborah’s satin dress, and velvet hat?” called Mr. Alder.

She turned and smiled back at him, as she went out.

Soon Mr. Ladd drove up.

“I came a bit early,” he said. “I’ve got some milk for the Seminary. Is Clematis ready?”

“Yes, all ready, I guess. She just went out to get her cat.”

Mrs. Alder went to the back door and called.

She waited a minute, but Clematis did not come.

She called again. No Clematis. “Please go and get her, Henry,” she said to Mr. Alder. “Tell her to come right in.”

After a few minutes Mr. Alder came back. He looked puzzled.

“Well, where is Clematis?” asked Mrs. Alder.

“I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Isn’t she in the loft?”

“No.”

“Well, perhaps she went to say goodby to the pigs.”

“She isn’t there.”

“She must be around here somewhere. She has no wings; she can’t fly.”

“I’m not so sure of that.” Mr. Alder smiled in a puzzled way at Mr. Ladd.

“That’s just like you men.”

Mrs. Alder went to the door and called as loudly as she could. Then she went to the barn and called again.

She looked all about. Mr. Alder looked all about. Mr. Ladd looked all about.

They all called once more.

It was of no use. Clematis was gone.