BLOSSOMING FERNS.
The minister's covered carryall was borrowed from two miles off, to take Mrs. Argenter down to Tillington.
All she knew about the winter plan was that Miss Ledwith was a friend of Miss Kirkbright's, had a large, old-fashioned house, and scarcely any household, and would be glad to have herself and Sylvie take rooms with her for several months. She had a vague idea that Miss Ledwith might be somewhat restricted in her means, and that to receive lodgers in a friendly way would be an "object" to her. She talked, indeed, with a gentle complaisance to Miss Kirkbright, about its not being exactly what they had intended,—they had thought of rooms at Hotel Pelham or Boylston, so central and so near the Libraries; but after all, what she needed most was quiet and no stairs; and she had a horror of elevators, and a dread of fire; so that this was really better, perhaps; and Miss Ledwith was a very sweet person.
Miss Euphrasia smiled; "sweet," especially in the silvery tone in which Mrs. Argenter uttered it, was the last monosyllabic epithet she would have selected as applying to grave, earnest, downright Desire.
At East Keaton, the train stopped for five minutes.
Sylvie had begged Mr. Kirkbright beforehand to get her mother's foot-warmer filled with hot water at the station, and he had just returned with it. She was busily arranging it under Mrs. Argenter's feet again, and wrapping the rug about her, kneeling beside her chair to do so, when some one entered the drawing-room car in which the party was, and came up behind her.
She thought she was in the way of some stranger, and hastily arose.
"I beg your pardon," she said, instinctively, and turned as she spoke.
"What for?" asked Rodney Sherrett, holding out both hands, and grasping hers before she was well aware.
There were morning stars in her eyes, and a beautiful sunrise crimsoned her cheek. These two had not seen each other all summer.