"Yes; but—"
"Oh! oh!" cried poor Ally, as a fresh flash of memory overcame her, "that must be the—the—" She was going to say, "the old Beacon Street number," when, confused and dismayed, she gave another step backward, her foot slipped, and she fell headlong to the foot of the stairs, where she lay white and motionless, not a sigh or moan escaping her as she was lifted and carried into the parlor.
CHAPTER III.
The sun was shining brightly into the pretty new dining-room on Marlborough Street where Uncle John lived, and swinging in its beams a great gray parrot named Peter kept calling out, "Ally's come, Ally's come! give her a kiss! give her a kiss!"
The room was empty when the parrot began; but presently Uncle John and Aunt Kate came in. At sight of them the parrot screamed, "Hello! hello!" and then repeated louder than ever, "Ally's come! Ally's come! give her a kiss! give her a kiss!"
"For pity's sake, put the bird out!" exclaimed Uncle John. "I can't stand that now!"
"Yes, put him out, do!" said Aunt Kate to the servant who was just then bringing in the coffee.
In a few moments the three daughters of the family—Laura and Maud and Mary—appeared.
"Have you heard anything about her this morning?" asked the eldest,—Laura,—as she took her seat at table.
Uncle John shook his head.