For a moment he gazed rather blankly at the brown-
curled young lady who was embracing him. Then a most delightful
smile broke over his face; he sprang up and caught her to his
heart.
"Sara--Sara--my little Sara! To think didn't know you at first
glance! But you are almost a woman. 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. He was asleep in the hammock. We found him there."
"Dear me!" said Aunt Janet, sitting down helplessly.
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