“It is Miss Hester Bartlett,” said one of the bystanders, “and she is—a little—deformed, and lives alone in the edge of the village.”
The man turned so white he seemed about to faint as he said: “It is she! Friends”—turning to the much interested crowd, “I have sought her for years. I was in the army and reported killed in battle, and when I went home to take care of my unfortunate sister, she had disappeared, and I have never till now found a clue to her. Take me to her instantly!” turning to Maggie, who was now really crying for joy to think of Miss Hester’s happiness.
But the people urged that such a shock, when she supposed him dead, might be very dangerous, and at last he was persuaded to let some one who knew her break the joyful news to her.
Maggie went back to the cottage the happiest girl in the village, and the next morning the news was safely broken to Miss Hester, who in a short half hour found herself crying on her brother’s shoulder—the richest and the happiest woman in all the world, as she said through her tears.
From that day a new life began for Maggie, for neither brother nor sister would hear of parting from her, who had been the means of their finding each other. A larger house was built, and Miss Hester persuaded to mingle a little with her neighbors, while Maggie took her place among the young people on equal terms with all.
“That was splendid!” said Kristy, with shining eyes, as Mrs. Wilson ended her story. “Is it true? Did it really happen?”
“Yes, it is true; I know Maggie myself,—met her last summer, when I went to B——.”
“I should like to know her,” said Kristy. “Can’t you tell another, Mrs. Wilson?”
“Kristy,” said her mother, reprovingly, “it’s bad enough for you to tease me for stories without making victims of others.”
“Oh, I like to tell stories,” said Mrs. Wilson, laughing, “and I think I have time to tell Kristy about the naughtiest day of my life.”