Virginia sank limply into the parlor car seat. After a moment she raised herself and looked out through the wide window upon the busy platform of the South Ridgefield station. Serena and Ike waited by the car nervously, endeavoring to locate the position of their mistress by peering into the coach. The old negress was publicly weeping.

As they caught sight of the girl, the train started and with rapidly increasing speed moved down the platform. Ike grinned a cheerful farewell while Serena screamed her adieu, and, as if unable to bear the separation, started to waddle along with the train, frantically waving her black hands.

Virginia signaled back and shouted embarrassed little good byes, subconsciously aware that they would be heard by no one except her traveling companions. As the two negroes were swept from her sight, a feeling of utter loneliness wrapped her in its gloomy folds. Pent up tears flooded her eyes, and so, through a mist, she saw at the end of the platform a man and woman, waving handkerchiefs from an automobile, who looked remarkably like Hezekiah Wilkins and Mrs. Henderson. Likewise, through a curtain of moisture, when the train crossed the bridge, she perceived the stranded Nancy Jane, symbolical of her own wrecked efforts.As the roar of the train upon the bridge died away, the girl sank back again into her seat and succumbed completely to her grief. During those last few hours at home she had steeled herself not to display her feelings. She had met her father on the previous day and explained her plans quite as calmly as if she were about to take an ordinary vacation trip.

The decision of his daughter to leave him, based as it was upon the inspiration of her mother, dead these seventeen years, had left him strangely helpless. In his passion he had thrust aside the cloak of idealism in which she had arrayed him and exposed his true character. She had struck back, unwittingly selecting a weapon which had swept aside his momentary anger and left him shaken and perplexed at the edge of the abyss which had opened between them. Obadiah, too, had been unhappy in those hours. He loved Virginia with all the affection of which his nature was capable. There had been moments when he would have surrendered abjectly to his daughter on her own terms but for the grim obstinacy which obsessed him.

It may be that she intuitively appreciated his mental struggles, because, excepting only her determination to leave home, she treated him with the tenderest consideration. In his perplexity, Obadiah drifted for the moment and blindly followed the girl’s lead, as if through her alone could come the solution of the problem which separated them. Their breakfast that morning had been a difficult ordeal as had been their leave taking. He had displayed no desire to accompany her to the train and had parted from her with a grim indifference which his troubled face belied.Now, at least, there was relief in the luxury of a good cry; but after a time the tears ceased and a weary peace came. Resting her head against the back of her chair she gave herself up to thoughts of the few little happinesses which gleamed like bright stars in the darkness with which she was surrounded.

She thought of Joe Curtis and thrilled when she remembered the long hand clasp. His picture of Old Rock comforted her anew as she assured herself that such a place could not be lonely. She reviewed the few moments in which she had bidden farewell to Mrs. Henderson. She had dreaded Hennie’s embarrassing questions. But, strangely, Hennie was not inquisitive. She had broken away to rush into her kitchen crying loudly that something was burning. This belief, from certain remarks which had floated back, had irritated Carrie, her cook, exceedingly. Returning, she had enveloped the girl in a wealth of motherly tenderness, so that in reality the visit had consisted of much sobbing upon the older woman’s shoulder to an accompaniment of soothing endearments and a train of explosive exclamations from which little could be gathered.

Soon she began to think of her Aunt Kate and of the new home to which she was going. Little enough she knew. Once, shortly before the death of Elinor Dale, Mrs. Kate Baker had visited South Ridgefield. At the time, she had a baby daughter of Virginia’s age and was mourning the death of her husband. For years there had been irregular correspondence; but, as far as Virginia was concerned, her father’s sister and her cousin were merely names.

The day of tiresome travel slowly passed. There were times when, in a wave of despair, Virginia pictured herself adrift on a sea of sadness, where all was dark and cheerless; but there were moments when sweet thoughts of her mother strengthened her and made her resolve to stand by her colors, no matter what the cost.

It was late that evening when the train arrived at Old Rock. The unusual excitement and the fatigue of traveling had brought on a persistent headache, so that it was a most forlorn and miserable Virginia who was helped down from the car. Hardly had her bag been dropped at her side when the train moved on. As the metal doors clanged shut, it seemed to the girl as if it were the sound of the gates of her old life closing against her. She gazed timidly about the station. It was very dark to this girl of the city–this child of the electric lights. The fear of the unknown seized her. Sick, frightened, every limb of her trembling, she hesitated helplessly.

A figure approached through the gloom, and the soft, cheery voice of a girl inquired, “Cousin Virginia?”

Virginia’s throat was dry and husky. “Yes.” Her answer was only a whisper. A frightened little sound, but it was all that she could make.

Now a hand seized her arm and she was led along the platform. They came under a station lamp, and again the voice spoke as they faced a tall, angular, plainly dressed woman. “Here she is, mother.”

Virginia looked up into a face which made her gasp in astonishment. In the eyes, the mouth, the deep cut lines, was resemblance to her father but, oh, with what a difference. It was Obadiah sweetened by love and affection. The harshness, the obstinacy, the selfishness of him were memories here. In their place lay a gentle, motherly look beneath the soft, white hair and from the eyes beamed a tender welcome to the lonely girl.

As Virginia hesitated diffidently, the lamp overhead brought out the pallor and the pathos of her wan tired little face. With never a word but just a soft exclamation she sank into the outstretched arms of her aunt.

“You poor tired darling,” whispered Aunt Kate. She fixed a look of great severity over Virginia’s shoulder at her own daughter. “Helen,” she cried, “do you expect visitors to carry their own baggage? Take Virginia’s bag to the surrey.” As Helen obediently departed, Aunt Kate gave her guest a motherly hug, meanwhile making strange noises in her throat. Releasing one arm with great care lest the girl be disturbed, she endeavored to wipe a tear from her wrinkled cheek with a finger. “Come, child,” she said sharply. “You must get to bed. How do you feel?” When she learned of the headache she commiserated with her niece. “You poor child. Sleep is the best treatment for that.”

A surrey drawn by a remarkably fat horse was waiting for them back of the station.

“Don’t you feel well, Cousin Virginia?” inquired Helen from the front seat.

“It’s only a headache, Cousin Helen.”

There was sincere relief in Helen’s voice as she replied, “I am so glad that it is nothing worse.”

Virginia and her Aunt climbed into the back seat of the conveyance.

“Hush,” cried Helen in a loud whisper. “Archimedes is asleep. It’s a shame to disturb him. I haven’t the heart to hit him,” she giggled.

“Be careful and don’t strike that horse cruelly, Helen,” Aunt Kate warned her daughter, as if that maiden were habitually guilty of cruelty to animals.

Helen disregarded her mother’s remark. “Archimedes is dreaming of corn and oats and hay and green pastures. He must dream of such things, as he never thinks of anything else,” she laughed.

“Stop your nonsense, Helen. I have a sick girl here who should be in bed.”

“I’m better already,” protested Virginia.

“Get up, Arch,” cried Helen.

Archimedes stood fast.

“Arch,” she called again.

No movement followed.

“Pull on the reins, Helen,” suggested Aunt Kate.

“Mother, how many times must I tell you that to pull on the reins is no way to start a horse. A logical minded animal would expect you to push on the lines when you want him to stop, and that wouldn’t do at all.” That mischievous giggle came again and Helen gave the horse a smart tap with the whip.

The lazy steed flinched slightly and moved slowly forward.

“Don’t be cruel, Helen, and keep in the gutter.”

“Mother, there are no automobiles out at this time of night. For once, when we have company, we should drive in the middle of the road. As we pay taxes, we have a right there,” argued Helen. “I am getting curvature of the spine from driving with one wheel in the gutter.”“It is so much safer, Helen. Archimedes can’t get out of the way quickly.”

“Why should he? Let the automobiles make room for us once. Are we frightened chickens to flee from them?”

“It makes the people in the machines so cross, Helen. They say such unkind things.”

Delightful remembrances returned to Helen. “Mother, are you thinking of the man who offered to lend us his jack to move Archimedes out of the road?”

“That man was very angry.”

“He was, mother. I hope that he has gotten over it by now,” laughed Helen. She clucked energetically and went on, “As you are with us tonight, we will pursue our usual humble way in the gutter. But,” she declared emphatically, “when Virginia and I go driving we will take the middle of the road and keep it in spite of all the horn-blowing goggle-eyed men in the state of Maine. Archimedes shall not be insulted. His proud spirit rebels.”

They jogged along, the proud spirit of Archimedes being well content with a modest speed. Turning into a driveway, they ascended a slight incline and drove into a large barn.

“This is my department,” Helen told her cousin with pride as she unharnessed Archimedes. When he was safe in his stall she paused before the white face of a Holstein cow. “Cowslip,” she giggled, “this is your cousin Virginia who has come to visit you.”

A door opened and Aunt Kate called, “Helen, bring your cousin in. Don’t keep her out in that barn when she has a headache.”So, with an arm about her cousin’s waist, Helen guided her on her first trip along a Maine domestic pathway which begins in the stable, or even chicken house, and runs under one roof to the parlor.

Virginia paused in a doorway that opened into a large oblong room. In its center was a great, square, brick chimney which divided it into a cosy kitchen forming a most convenient part of the dining room, and a dining room which was a most pleasant part of the kitchen. The low room with its old-fashioned paper, its white-curtained, square-paned windows and its painted floor, was delightfully homey and cheerful. It seemed particularly so to Virginia, with the motherly face of her aunt smiling a kindly welcome and the arm of her pretty blonde cousin drawing her affectionately towards its comfort.

A few minutes later, with a bag in one hand and a candlestick in the other, Helen led her cousin up the stairs to the cosiest little bed room imaginable. Its low ceiling sloped with the roof except where broken by dainty curtained dormer windows. A mahogany four poster, a highboy and a table with some chairs constituted its furniture, while upon the floor were round rugs of woven rags.

After Helen had departed and she had removed the traces of her journey, Virginia seated herself in a rocker for a moment. She felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. The fear of the unknown, which had so terrified her, was gone. In spite of her sadness, when she thought of her father, she felt reassured and comforted. As the girl sat there, a tender dreamy look of indescribable sweetness crept into her face. Her lips moved and she whispered ever so softly, “Mother, your way is not so hard.”

The simple little supper, to which the three women sat down that evening was delightful to Virginia. And afterwards, what a gay time they had with the dishes. The city cousin, whose headache was now a thing of the past, donned an apron and assisted in drying them. Never had Serena permitted her this proud privilege and how pleased she was to do it now. She polished the few plates upon which she had the time to apply her intensive treatment until they shone and sparkled bravely beneath the lamplight.

Aunt Kate watched her strenuous efforts for a time in silence and then burst forth, “Good land, if I weren’t sure that the blue on that old willow ware was burned deep, child, I’d be afraid you’d rub it off.”

“Virginia is exercising, mother,” laughed Helen.

“If she exercises that hard on each dish, she won’t have either the strength or time to do the rest of her work. No man would want to marry a girl who puts in her time wiping dishes. Most of them would rather look at good things to eat in their plates than at the reflection of their own faces, I’ll warrant you.”

How the two girls did enjoy Aunt Kate’s sage remark and what a pleasant little chat they had when supper was over.

Aunt Kate sat in her easy chair and sewed, and now and then interjected a word of wisdom into their conversation which convulsed them. Finally she yawned, and, looking at the old wooden cased clock upon the mantel, announced, “It’s time all honest folks were in bed and rogues were movin’.”A short time after this pointed remark, Virginia, tingling with the chill of the northern night which swept in as she opened her windows, climbed into bed, and, pulling the blankets about her, she gave a little sigh and, very much like her old self, plunged into a deep and dreamless slumber.

When she awakened the next morning, sunlight was streaming into the room. Filled with curiosity over her new surroundings, she sprang from her bed and gazed out of the window. Across the road, which ran in front of the house, a newly mowed meadow rolled down to the shore of a lake or pond a short distance away. Its surface, rippled by the morning breeze, glittered and sparkled in the sun. Beyond the water, rising abruptly from its edge, was a great hill, its slope covered with a forest of pine and fur and hemlock. The green expanse of the meadow was broken by islands of maple and oak while several huge granite bowlders stood forth against the sod in all of their grey majesty. The color of the soft, rich summer sky, dotted with floating masses of fleecy white, was reflected in the flashing water. The trees and grass, yet glistening with the morning dew, were a moist green, untouched by the yellow of sun scorch or drought. It was a restful verdancy which spoke of frequent rains, of cool days and of cooler nights.

“Virginia, are you awake?” came the voice of her aunt from the hall.

She climbed hastily back into bed as her aunt entered.

Aunt Kate smiled sweetly down at the girl whose serious eyes reflecting the color of the morning sky, gazed at her from a mass of wavy black hair. “How is the headache?” she asked.

“It left last night, Aunt Kate, and hasn’t come back.”

“That’s good.” Aunt Kate’s voice was very gentle and sympathetic. She sat upon the edge of the bed and, leaning forward, patted the soft cheek of her niece.

Again, in the lined face of her aunt, Virginia recognized that resemblance to her father, so wonderfully softened by kindness and sweetness. The thought came to the girl that her mother would have had such a tenderness of look had she lived. A flood of memories swept down upon her and tears welled up in her eyes.

Her aunt gathered her into those mothering arms again, and almost before the girl appreciated what she was doing she had opened her heart and told her woes in the gloomiest way possible.

After she had soothed her niece, until she could give a teary little smile, Aunt Kate arose and, moving to the window, viewed the familiar landscape with a stern eye, sniffing portentously. In a moment she began to speak. “We Dales are a selfish and obstinate family. We were always so.” There was a note of pride in her voice. “The men are worse than the women–much worse–more obstinate and selfish, dear,” she repeated. “I know my brother Obadiah–better than he knows himself. I am very glad, child, that you told me about the whole thing.” Suddenly her voice became sharp and emphatic and she fastened a severe look upon Virginia. “Don’t you for a minute get it into your head that you have run away from home. If you had, I should take you back myself. You should have visited your cousin Helen and me a dozen times before, and now we will make up for your neglect and give brother Obadiah a chance to calm himself after the disturbances you have created.” She paused for a moment and then went on, smiling sweetly, “I want you to be your own sweet self here and have a jolly time with Helen.” Her tones became gentle. “Follow the way of your mother until the end of your life. Sometimes it will lead through gloomy valleys but it is the road which leads to the sunshine of the heights. Hum,” she cried sharply, “read ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ child. It says the same thing, but better.”

A much cheered Virginia came down to breakfast, and, like the very healthy young person she was, in obedience to her aunt’s command and the natural law of youth, forgot the unhappiness of yesterday in the joys of the present.

The days which followed were crowded with happy hours. There were drives long in time but short in mileage behind the majestic Archimedes over tree-shaded roads. Unaccompanied by the timid Aunt Kate, they forsook the humble gutter and seized the crown of the road. With peals of ringing laughter, they pursued their slow way, unmindful of irate tourists filled with the belief that the road and the width thereof was theirs to be covered at fifty scorching miles an hour, and that delays from slow moving taxpayers were an interference with their vested rights as well as to their progress towards the uttermost parts of the earth.There were plunges into the cold depths of the pond followed by wild scrambles, when, with chilled muscles, they ran through the cool air over the meadow to the house.

There were long paddles in the canoe where every curve and bend of a stream opened a new vista of loveliness, of woods, of stream, of hill, of rolling meadow.

There were tramps through forests of fir and pine where their feet sank into the soft cushion of needles and they climbed until they came out on the rugged tops of hills where, resting in weariness, they drank deep of the pure air and feasted their eyes upon the pleasing prospect below them.

Tired and weary but happy beyond relief, they would return in the evening and, catching sight of Aunt Kate waiting upon the porch, greet her with gay shouts and, both speaking at once, relate stirring adventures of field and flood with cows and frogs and sheep and dogs.

Jolly feasts these three women had when sore muscles rested after the day’s effort. Never were such vegetables grown as came from the garden back of the barn. Where else, pray tell, could such desserts be found as Aunt Kate made? Or what could be more delicious than those big bowls of raspberries or blueberries afloat in Cowslip’s rich, thick contribution to the feast?

Afterwards, Virginia would write letters until too soon a nodding head and leaden eyelids would force her to bed. Her correspondence was large in those days. She wrote to Mrs. Henderson and Serena and Joe Curtis; but more often she wrote to her father, telling him all that she did.

Regularly to her, came letters from him. They were formal, precise epistles in a style which might be described as having commercial tendencies and obviously prepared by Mr. Jones at the dictation of Obadiah.

As the weeks passed “V,” as Helen nicknamed her cousin, developed muscle and flesh and grew amazingly, and the coat of tan she acquired would have been a scandalous thing in any beauty parlor in the land.