FLORA had stood for some little time, mechanically caressing the vine, when she was surprised to hear near at hand, in a voice strangely familiar, the words:
"Well, I declare!"
Looking up quickly, but scarcely crediting her own eyes, she exclaimed:
"Lottie Piper!"
"Flora Hazeley!" returned the voice, and in a moment the friends were locked in each other's arms.
"Where did you come from? What are you doing here?" asked Flora, eagerly, in her desire to account for Lottie's presence in the village.
"Only one question at a time, if you please," laughingly returned Lottie. "Can you not guess?" she added, glancing at her gown, and for the first time Flora noticed it was black.
The quick tears sprang to Flora's eyes.
"Oh, Lottie, who is it? Not your mother?" she said, sympathetically, her arm tightening in its grasp, and her thoughts running back to her sorrow when Aunt Bertha passed away.
"Yes," returned Lottie, sadly, "mother is dead. Father felt that he could not be happy at home, and so he went away out West, and left me with my aunt, Mrs. Emmeline Durand. And Flora, if you want to know what misery is, just you come and take my place for a while." And she looked at Flora with such a mingled expression of regret at her lot, and assumed resignation, that Flora was tempted to laugh, in spite of her sorrow in learning of the death of Mrs. Piper.