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Miss Sullivan said she felt that she could be of no real service; she was, of course, much interested in the final recovery of her waif, but she could have news of him from Miranda; she ought not to detain her friends at Loggerly.

What she did not say, in spite of a somewhat evident anxiety to find reasons for departure, was that she did not dare trust herself to encounter the stranger on his recovery, so shaken was she by certain inward tremors, so prostrated in strength and spirits—the result, no doubt, of her efforts in his behalf. An instinct of self-protection urged to flight. She gave the word, “Go.”

White Socks and the buggy came to the door. Dan’l stepped forward with a bunch of hollyhocks, pink, yellow, and purple. He got a very unexpected kiss—unexpected by giver and receiver.

“Thank you for your boots, Dan’l. I could not have gone a step without them.”

There was a very blushing Dan’l, a very pensive Dan’l, a very manly Dan’l, a very like-a-first-lover Dan’l, about the premises that evening. He doubled his fists and said “Durn it!” very often, but always ended with a pleased smile. Dan’l was having his first glimpses into fairyland; his world seemed enchanted, as he wandered out through the ferns to sunset—strawberries his pretence.