The train was in; it had whizzed around the corner of Raymond's farm over an hour ago, and Ralph had had time to nearly make the distance between the depot and a certain tall sycamore tree, where she had decided to stop and wait; so she strolled slowly, with her eyes down, and thought of him. He would look just as he used to, she thought, not realizing the time that had elapsed, nor how much she had changed herself. There would be the merry dark eyes, and faint mustache, the eager, almost boyish face and figure, and he would kiss her, as he used to, and how funny it would seem, to think they were nearly engaged.

She smiled to herself, unconscious that he was drawing near, and eagerly watching the pretty, slight, blue-robed figure, strolling in the sunshine; but she looked up in a moment and saw him.

Was that Ralph? She felt her heart jump clear into her throat; as she paused, and stared at the tall gentleman rapidly approaching, and she had no strength to take another step. She had arranged a little speech to deliver at the proper moment, but,

"By the sycamore pa.s.sed he, and through the white clover;"

then all the sweet speech she had fashioned took flight. He came nearer with eager brightness in his handsome eyes; he took her two resistless hands and looked under her hat-brim.

"Kathleen, is it you?"

At the sound of the voice, which was still the same, Kat was covered with a swift, shy confusion. She had expected a boy; there had come to her a man, who had come at her bidding, and who loved her. She longed to run away or hide her head, or something, but how could she when he held her hands, and persisted in looking under her hat.

"I expected to find you racing along the road or sitting on a fence, and waiting for me," he said, with a laugh. "I looked for my dear romp, and instead of that, I meet a graceful lovely young woman with the sweetest face in the world, and I don't believe she's glad to see me."

"What made you go and change so?" stammered Kat, still unable to reconcile the vision before her with the boyish Ralph Tremayne. "I'd never known you, anywhere."

"Nor I, you, hardly. What made you go and change so?" retorted he.

"I haven't."

"Neither have I."

Whereupon they felt better acquainted, and laughed socially; then he kissed her, and slipped her hand through his arm.

"You're not sorry you told me to come, are you?"

"Not a bit. Are you sorry you came?"

"Not a bit. You're altogether lovely and charming, my dear, and may I tell you how much I love you?"

"I guess you'd better not. I'll have to get a little better acquainted with you first, you've gone and grown so big and handsome, and all that," answered Kat, feeling more comfortable, and looking up at him with some of the old saucy twinkle in her eyes.

"Bless those eyes," he exclaimed, with every symptom of telling the forbidden fact. "I must tell you, dear, that you have grown lovely."

"You told me that once."

"Don't you like to hear it?"

"I shouldn't wonder if I did. But I must tell you something important before we go any farther," said Kat solemnly.

"Do so at once; I'm listening."

"Well, Ralph, I've--I've had another proposal since I wrote to you,"

confessed the wretched little hypocrite, with lowered hat-brim.

"You have? By jingo! Who from?" Ralph dropped her hand, and the ruddy color went from his face suddenly.

"From a New York gentleman at Mrs. Raymond's, and--and--"

"Go on," said Ralph shortly, his voice cold and hard.

"He said he had built--no, bought--no, had a beautiful home, and asked me to share it, and I didn't know what on earth to say, so--I told him--that I wasn't Kittie, and then he changed his mind."

"Kathy!" What a blessing it was that no one was anywhere near, for right there in the sunshine, Ralph threw his arm around her and drew her close, to kiss the saucy lips and eyes. "How could you? I'm stunned out of a year's growth! Was it Murray?"

"Well, I don't think you'll miss it," laughed Kat. "Yes, it was Mr.

Murray, and Kittie's going to share that home."

"You don't say so. We'll go off doubly and very soon, too, for of course the little mother will be willing."

"Yes, of course," said Kat.

So they strolled on in the sunshine, and the sweetest story in the world, gray with age, yet fresh as spring-time in their hearts, made the sunshine brighter than ever before to their happy eyes.

CHAPTER XXV.

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL, AND TO ALL A GOOD-NIGHT. FIVE YEARS LATER.

The house was lighted from attic to bas.e.m.e.nt, and though it was Christmas Eve, the air was like spring, for nature sometimes turns freakish, and smiles on us when we are expecting the cold shoulder. Here and there, a window was open, for the Derings always did love plenty of air; and so a merry sound of laughter and gay voices was wafted out into the night air, and the old trees rustled joyfully, as though the sound were a familiar and happy one to them, and it did their old bones--or bark, good to hear it. Even the vines, that clambered about as gayly now as ever--only closer and thicker, tapped on the windows and nodded their leafless heads, as though in welcome, and fairly rustled with joy clear down to their aged roots, to see all the dear children at home once more.

The front door stood hospitably open, as it had always had a trick of doing, and in the wide old hall were two children, one of whom sat on the stairs, with a sober, thoughtful face, while the other, in diminutive petticoats, was trying to stand on his head against the stout bannister-post. One failure followed another, in discouraging succession, but the little fellow kept determinedly at it, in spite of b.u.mps and thumps, and finally succeeded in hoisting his fat legs up for the briefest second imaginable, which was perfectly satisfactory, and after which he righted himself, with serenely glowing face.

"Did," he said, triumphantly; to which the judge, sitting gravely on the stairs, a.s.sented with much solemnity, and seemed to be casting about in his mind for some other feat to propose.

"Hurts," said the young tumbler, rubbing his top-knot with a mite of a hand, and glancing severely at the judge.

"Stand on this," said the judge, coming down and offering his square inch of pocket-handkerchief, which was accordingly laid down by the post. "That makes it thoft; won't hurt now. Do't over."

With a readiness and faith that was sublime, he of the petticoats went at it, and had just succeeded in turning a side somersault, such as was never seen before, when further effort was nipped in the bud by some one coming into the hall.

"Good gracious!" cried a merry voice, as the tumbler was caught up, shaken, and set down with some force. "What are you up to now, Thomas, my lively son?"

"He wath standin' on hith head, auntie," explained the judge, with great politeness, as the tumbler appeared too much confused by all the circ.u.mstances to make any answer.

"Wath he, indeed?" laughed Thomas's mama. "Mashing his little head all to jelly; poor Tommy!"

"No," said Tom, whose remarks were more noticeable for brevity than anything else. "No sh.e.l.ly."

"Yes, indeed, little soft-head; come, ask papa," and with that Mrs.

Tremayne--for who should it be but lively Kat--shouldered her small, but ambitious son, and carried him away. The judge looked forlorn after that. He folded his small handkerchief and put it carefully away in its tiny pocket, then he sat down on the lowest step and looked thoughtfully out of the front door, as though he expected further developments to arrive from that direction. Nor was he disappointed. There arose a sound of labored and energetic breathing from without, as of some one toiling up the steps, and then something in white fluttered across the porch, and in at the door, and the judge fairly beamed with delight and satisfaction.

"Hullo!" he said politely.

"'Llo," returned the new-comer.