Katy’s tears were stopped at last; but the frightened, anxious look did not leave her face, even though Wilford tried his best to divert her mind.  A nervous terror of her new relations had gained possession of her heart, and nearly the entire night she lay awake, pondering in her mind what Wilford had said, and thinking how terrible it would be if he should be disappointed in her after all.  The consequence of this was that a very white, tired face sat opposite Wilford next morning at the breakfast served in their private parlor; nor did it look much fresher even after they were in the cars and rolling out of Boston.  But when Worcester was reached, and the old home waymarks began to grow familiar, the color came stealing back, until the cheeks burned with an unnatural red, and the blue eyes fairly danced as they rested on the hills of Silverton.

“Only three miles from mother and Helen!  Oh, if I could go there!” Katy thought, working her fingers nervously; but the express train did not pause there, and it went so swiftly by the depot that Katy could hardly discover who was standing there, whether friend or stranger.

But when at last they came to West Silverton, and the long train slowly stopped, the first object she saw was Dr. Morris, driving down from the village.  He had no intention of going to the depot, and only checked his horse a moment, lest it should prove restive if too near the engine; but when a clear young voice called from the window:  “Morris! oh, Cousin Morris!  I’ve come!” his heart gave a great heavy throb, for he knew whose voice that was and whose the little hand beckoning to him.  He had supposed her far away beneath Italian skies, for at the farmhouse no intelligence had been received of her intended return, and in much surprise he reined up to the rear door, and throwing his lines to a boy, went forward to where Katy stood, her face glowing with delight as she flew into his arms, wholly forgetful of the last night’s lecture on dignity, also forgetful of Wilford, standing close beside her.  He had not tried to hold her back when, at the sight of Morris, she sprang away from him; but he followed after, biting his lip, and wishing she had a little more discretion.  Surely it was not necessary to half strangle Dr. Grant as she was doing, kissing his hand even after she had kissed his face a full half dozen times, and all the people looking on.  But Katy did not care for people.  She only knew that Morris was there—­the Morris whom, in her great happiness abroad, she had perhaps slighted by not writing directly to him but once.  In Wilford’s sheltering care she had not felt the need of this good cousin, as she used to do; but she was so glad to see him, wondering why he looked so thin and sad.  Was he sick? she asked, gazing up into his face with a pitying look, which made him shiver as he answered: 

“No, not sick, though tired, perhaps, as I have at present an unusual amount of work to do.”