"You care, Thinkright," replied the girl wistfully. "There shouldn't be anything sad or hopeless around the Mill Farm, least of all that dear old neglected thing that named it."
"You're a very fanciful little girl," was the reply; but there was nothing disapproving in the glance her companion bent upon her.
As they drove up to the farmhouse, the living-room door flew open, and Minty was disclosed, prevented by her mother from going out into the rain, and expending pent-up energy by hopping up and down with irrepressible eagerness.
Mrs. Lem appeared behind her, wreathed in smiles, and coiffured and arrayed in her company best.
"It's so good to be home again," cried Sylvia, "so good, so good!" and she jumped out of the wagon and seized Minty's hands and danced around the living-room in the rubber coat until the child's laughter rang out gleefully.
"And how have you been, Mrs. Lem?" she asked when their breath was gone.
"Smart," replied that lady, regarding the girl admiringly, and wondering whether by patience and perseverance she might force her own hair to go into the shape of Sylvia's.
"I do hope you've brought us a change in the weather," went on Mrs. Lem. "When it hain't ben actually rainin' the past two weeks, there's ben so much timidity in the atmosphere that I've got hoarse as a crow, and we'll all be webfooted pretty soon if it don't clear up."
"You shall have sunshine to-morrow," declared Sylvia.
"I hain't touched the Rosy Cloud yet," said Minty, "even though you wrote I could. Thinkright said I might let her git stove on a rock, and he'd druther I'd wait."