In spite of Letty’s appearing to be overjoyed at the arrival of the chocolate and cakes, she did not eat very much. For some reason which Anna did not understand she did not seem able to keep quiet for an instant. Every second she would jump up to fetch some trifle for Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, for which that lady had not felt the slightest need; or if she could think of nothing to do, would simply whirl about the room in an ecstasy of motion. Anna watched her with astonished curiosity.

These little afternoon tea-parties occurred every day now, and Anna Parsons was always included. Usually on the days when the twins and their grandmother were not present, Mrs. Hartwell-Jones did most of the talking, entertaining her little guests with descriptions of her travels across the seas or telling them bits of stories that she had read or written herself. But to-day it was Letty who talked. Talked! She became a perfect chatterbox. Indeed, she seemed like a different person altogether, with her sparkling eyes, red cheeks and prattling tongue.

Presently Anna Parsons asked some question about the ponies, Punch and Judy, and that set Letty off on her recollections of the circus. Soon she had Anna and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones both laughing heartily over her tales; little Anna nearly fell off her chair in her merriment over the account of the trick elephant’s puzzled behavior when they softened the clapper of his bell so that it would not sound when he rang it.

Then she told all the droll stories she could remember about Poll, Mrs. Goldberg’s parrot; and about the wonderful day Emma Fames had spent with her at Willow Grove and how she had saved Jane and Christopher from the bear.

“This mention of the twins and Willow Grove set Mrs. Hartwell-Jones thinking of the letter she had received from the children’s mother. Both she and grandmother had written to Mrs. Baker, Jr., and the answer had been most satisfactory, both earnest and enthusiastic. Mrs. Baker had described her visit to Mrs. Grey and told what a sweet, cultured, refined woman she had found her to be, and how carefully brought up and guarded Letty had been.

“Unless these three years with a traveling circus since her mother’s death have spoiled her, I am sure you could find no more ladylike child than Letty,” she had written. “Certainly she has sufficient birth and breeding to overcome any little bad habits she may have acquired, and in the proper surroundings I am sure she will grow into a charming, refined gentlewoman. Moreover, she may prove to have an inestimable gift. Her mother told me that she herself sang quite well when she was a younger woman, and that she had a strong conviction that Letty had inherited her voice.”

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones sat thinking over this letter and all the little incidents of the child’s past life that Letty had told her from time to time, and she breathed a little prayer of thanksgiving that a precious soul had been entrusted to her care.

“But I thought you didn’t like the circus,” exclaimed Anna at last, when she could laugh no more.

“I didn’t,” answered Letty positively, becoming grave all at once. “I didn’t like it at all!” She was silent for a moment and then said soberly: “Anna, did you ever get into a deep, dark wood with lots of low, thorny bushes and vines among the trees that caught your feet and tangled them and pricked you when you tried to walk through? And then, all at once you came out into the bright, bright sunshine? Then, if you looked back at the wood, while you were safe outside in the warm sunshine, it did not look so dreadful, but you found that it had some rather bright spots in it here and there. Well, that is how I feel about the circus.”

“Oh!” said Anna wonderingly.

“Oh, oh, it is so nice to be out in the sunshine again!” sighed Letty clasping her hands and looking across at Mrs. Hartwell-Jones with tears in her eyes. “So nice!”

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones opened her arms without a word, and Letty ran to them with a glad little cry. Anna stared at the pair in amazement, quite unable to account for this display of emotion. Then, with a sudden instinct that she was not wanted for the moment she rose, gathered the teacups softly together on the tray and tiptoed out of the room.

It was some time before Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty were again interrupted. This time it was the sound of a horse’s hoofs in the road below and then Grandfather Baker’s voice calling “Whoa!”

“Our supper guests are arriving,” exclaimed Mrs. Hartwell-Jones smiling.

“Oh!” cried Letty, jumping to her feet. “May I tell them?”

“Of course you may, my dear, that is, the children. The grown-ups already know. I could not keep my secret from Mrs. Baker.”

Letty flew out of the room, and met the Baker family mounting the stairs. She looked so radiantly happy that Christopher felt sure that there was going to be something particularly good for supper.

When they had all gathered in the sitting-room, after the greetings were over, Letty announced her glorious news, and then, oh, what excitement prevailed! The old Parsons house had never known anything like it. Every one talked at once, no one knew what any one else was saying, and no one answered questions. Indeed, nobody expected to be answered at first, nor said anything of any importance. They just “oh’d” and “ah’d” and kissed one another and laughed—and cried a little bit too, the feminine part. At this point Christopher drew his grandfather aside and said in a disgusted voice:

“There they go again! What makes women and girls cry so much, grandfather? They’re as bad when they’re pleased as when they’re sorry.”

Letty’s cheeks grew redder and redder, and her eyes danced and sparkled until they were fit companions for the stars that were already beginning to peep through the darkening sky outside. For it was growing later and later. Christopher began to be afraid that nobody would remember about supper. He could not be the one to remind Mrs. Hartwell-Jones, since he was her guest, but the picnic in the woods seemed farther and farther in the past until at length he decided that it had happened the day before—or maybe years ago! A fellow’s stomach can’t stay empty forever, you know, and he began to wonder what were the first symptoms of starvation.

Mrs. Hartwell-Jones came to herself and a realization of her duties as hostess in time, however, to save him from the actual pangs of starvation, and Mrs. Parsons, who had come up with Anna “to see what it was all about” hustled down-stairs again with the promise that she would have supper on the table “in a jiffy.”

At table the grown-ups, who all sat together at one end of the table, seemed to have a good deal to say to each other that was serious, but the children were brimful of fun and nonsense, and Letty kept the twins in a gale of laughter, just as she had kept Anna Parsons and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones in the afternoon.

After supper the children went out-of-doors and sat on the steps in the sweet night air while Letty sang to them. They grew very quiet and sober in the soft, solemn darkness. Presently Christopher said briskly, by way of breaking what he thought was beginning to be an awkward silence:

“I guess you’re some happy to-night, Letty. How does it feel to be somebody’s little girl after you haven’t belonged to anybody for so long?”

Instead of answering Letty suddenly began to cry. She only now saw how very lonely she had been these past three dreary years.

“There now, you rude boy, you’ve hurt her feelings. I hope you’re satisfied,” exclaimed Jane indignantly. “How would you like to be told you didn’t belong to any one?”

“But I do belong to some one, and I always have. But Letty didn’t, until Mrs. Hartwell-Jones took her, and I don’t see why she has to cry just because I spoke the truth,” argued Christopher.

“Kit is right,” said Letty, drying her tears. “I didn’t belong to any one before and it makes me so happy now to think that I’m really going to be somebody’s little girl again that—that I had to cry.”

“Huh! Had to cry! Why don’t you laugh if you’re glad? Why, I’d laugh for a week if I was going to belong to somebody that had as many good things to eat as Mrs. Hartwell-Jones always has.”

“Why, Kit, would you like to leave father and mother?” exclaimed Jane, much shocked.

“I didn’t say that, but Mrs. Hartwell-Jones certainly does know how to feed a fellow,” and Christopher smacked his lips.

Letty saw the word “greedy” trembling on Jane’s tongue and to check it she began quickly to talk about her good fortune.

“I am not to go to boarding-school, after all, because Mrs. Hartwell-Jones said she would be too lonely without me,” she said with a happy laugh. “Oh, just think of having a home to go back to every day after school! And the girls won’t snub me because of being a little circus girl!” she exclaimed, and, to Christopher’s vexation, began to cry again.

Jane grew very thoughtful all of a sudden. She thought of her own home-coming each day after school. She remembered that sometimes—quite often, indeed—she had not wanted to go home at all; had thought it very stupid to sit in the house and study. She would much rather go to the house of a schoolmate, or bring a friend home to play with her. But mother did not approve of visiting on schooldays, and Jane’s good times always had to be put off until Friday and Saturday during term-time. Mother was always at home to welcome her, and to ask about her lessons, quite as much interested in everything that had happened as if she, too, were a little girl. Then Christopher would get home from his school and the twins would have a jolly romp together before study time. Still Jane had found it dull at home at times. She wondered why, when she thought of how much she loved her mother and when she saw how happy it made Letty to think of going home to a woman who was very dear and sweet but who wasn’t her own mother after all—not really and truly her mother.

The children had not spoken for some time. Christopher was busying himself with trying how many stars he could count without changing his position. Suddenly a shadowy figure whirled toward them out of the darkness. Letty caught her breath and half rose to her feet. Christopher grasped the step with both hands and ejaculated:—“Oh, cricky!” He grew very pale for a moment but controlled his feelings bravely. But Jane screamed outright and threw both her arms around Letty’s neck.

But the shadowy figure turned out to be only Jo Perkins on his bicycle. He carried a small envelope which he handed to Christopher.

“It’s a cablegram, Kit,” he said. “Run up to your grandfather with it, quick. It came about supper time and Huldah said she didn’t know but it might be something important and that I’d better ride in with it.”

Perk propped his bicycle against the steps and waited while the twins rushed up-stairs.

“It’s from father and mother,” shouted Christopher, tumbling up the stairs in the lead. “What does it say, grandfather, oh, what does it say?”

Jane scrambled up behind her brother.

“They’re coming home, they’re coming home!” she sang blissfully. “When, grandfather? When?”

Grandfather looked a bit startled at this abrupt entrance. He fumbled for his spectacles, put them on and unfolded the cablegram carefully, while grandmother leaned over his shoulder, almost as impatient as the children.

“We sail ‘Metric’ Thursday. All well,” read grandfather.

“I knew they were coming, I knew it!” cried Jane happily. “When will they get here, grandfather?”

Then grandfather, grandmother and Jane began talking all at once, while Christopher whistled “The Campbells are Coming” as the most appropriate tune he could think of and Mrs. Hartwell-Jones and Letty stood hand in hand, smiling upon them all happily. A few weeks ago this little scene of rejoicing would have made Letty very sorrowful, but now she had her own unspeakable joy.

Outside in the soft summer night Jo Perkins sat on the fence and waited in comfortable unconcern.