I send to-day by express a package which I beg you will have delivered to Theodosia Vance. As soon as I was satisfied that Theodosia was a descendant of the lost Guilford, I wrote my kinsman the earl of the interesting survival. He and I are very good friends, and several times on my trips abroad I have visited his home, the ancient seat of our family. On one of these occasions, he had an old leather case brought in, and showed me the most precious heirloom of the family, six dozen worn spoons, the property of the original Guilford of Agincourt. Taking out a dozen, the earl gave them to me. Of course I prize them more than anything I possess. When he heard of the finding of Theodosia, he sent me, for her, another dozen of the precious spoons. They are in this package.
The spoons at last arrived, and were sent on to Dosia. The school women had much curiosity as to their reception; but when they made inquiries of Emily on her return the first of August, the child only replied, with her usual dignity, that “Maw was proud to get them.”
In early October another letter came from the essayist. “I have a growing desire,” she wrote, “to follow up the Scarborough spoons and see my new-found relatives. Emily’s letters interest me a good deal. This being a sabbatical year with me, I purpose visiting your school and the Vance home before going abroad for the winter.”
LATE October found Miss Scarborough journeying across the mountains on her way from the railroad. To a woman accustomed to luxurious motor-cars, a ride of fifty miles had not seemed formidable; but as the heavy road-wagon crashed, thumped, and banged along its difficult way at the rate of two miles an hour, she decided differently. Also, as she saw women weaving and spinning in porches of lonely log-houses, men felling timber in virgin forest, whole families gathering corn in precipitous fields, some conception of the primitive hardships of the life dawned upon her.
Although at forty-seven Emily Scarborough was as vigorous as she was beautiful, before the two-days’ trip was ended, weariness possessed her, every bone seemed dislocated, and on her arrival at the school she had to be assisted to bed by the trained nurse.
The next morning the visitor was half awakened by a tap at the door and by the entrance of some silent-footed person, who set down a tray. Stillness followed; but increasingly aware that she was an object of scrutiny, Miss Scarborough at last opened her eyes.
A small girl of twelve stood by the bed, gazing with grave, controlled eagerness at the face on the pillow. When the eyes opened, she smiled ever so slightly, and said quietly:
“Will you have your breakfast now, Cousin Emily?”
Miss Scarborough sat up in bed so suddenly that the masses of her spun-silver hair fell in a cloud about her face and shoulders.
“Are you Emily?” she asked.