“Oh, it seems just like a fairy story. I can hardly believe it.”
Miss Rose looked again at the picture.
“Yes, it is like a fairy story,” Mr. Brooks replied. “Dear, wayward girl. She needn’t have run away. I would have gladly forgiven her.”
“Then you will take Clematis to live with you, I suppose.”
“Yes indeed. I have wondered about that name, Clematis. Her mother loved flowers. She loved the clematis vine about the door most of all.”
“I suppose she named Clematis in memory of her dear old home,” said Miss Rose.
Then Mr. Brooks told Miss Rose about the white house on the hill.
“I suppose we ought to move back there, now,” he said. “Then Clematis can go to the Union School, and grow up like other children.”
“It is wonderful. It is a fairy story, I am sure,” she replied, “for the fairies must have led Clematis to your door. She will be the happiest child alive, when we tell her.”
And Clematis was the happiest girl alive, when they called her in and told her the whole story.