And when I saw you last you were just a little girl of eight.

My own little Sara!" "Father--father--sometimes I've wondered if you were ever coming back to me," I heard the Story Girl say, as I turned and scuttled up the Walk, realizing that I was not wanted there just then and would be little missed.

Various emotions and speculations possessed my mind in my retreat; but chiefly did I feel a sense of triumph in being the bearer of exciting news.
"Aunt Janet, Uncle Blair is here," I announced breathlessly at the kitchen door.
Aunt Janet, who was kneading her bread, turned round and lifted floury hands.

Felicity and Cecily, who were just entering the kitchen, rosy from slumber, stopped still and stared at me.
"Uncle who ?" exclaimed Aunt Janet.
"Uncle Blair--the Story Girl's father, you know.

He's here." "WHERE ?" "Down in the orchard.