The bright-faced, rosy-cheeked girl who entered the room at this moment was a very different being from the pale, timid, little waif of four months earlier. She had grown at least two inches, and the clothes which had hung loosely about her in her first days at the ranch had now become a tight fit. At Miss Jessie's request she smiled, and came hurrying to the side of her kind friend.
"It's a glorious day," she said; "it makes one happy just to be alive. I've had such a wonderful ride. I went as far as the railroad, and saw the West Bound pass; it was two hours late. I'll get your warm coat and some wraps and we'll sit behind the playhouse. You won't feel the wind there, and it will be heavenly."
"Undine," said Miss Graham suddenly, when the two were comfortably established in one of their favorite nooks; the invalid in her chair, and her companion on a rug spread on the ground; "where did you learn the song I heard you singing when you came in from your ride just now?"
"I forget which it was," said Undine, looking puzzled. "Oh, yes, I remember—'A Highland Laddie Lived over the Lea.' I don't know where I learned it—isn't it one of Jim's songs?"
"I don't think so, dear, but we can ask him. I never heard you sing it before."
Something of the old, troubled, far-away look crept into Undine's face.
"I don't know how I remember things," she said, slowly; "they just come into my head sometimes. Now that I think of it, I don't believe I have ever heard Jim sing that song. I must have heard it somewhere, though."
Miss Graham said nothing, and there was a short pause, which Undine broke.
"You and Mrs. Graham don't like to have me talk about the things I can't remember," she said, a little wistfully.
"Only because we don't want you to distress yourself and try to force your brain. I have always told you I was sure the memory would come back some day."