“Well, Ethelwyn,” said Mrs. Stevens with a gasp.  “I suppose it’s no harder than to resurrect them from anywhere else.”

“O yes, I should think so,” said Ethelwyn earnestly, “because they’d get dreadfully mixed up in themselves.  But never mind.  I suppose the Lord can manage it.”

Aunty Stevens and she then went out on the porch that faced the sea.

“O now I’m going to hear the secret,” said Ethelwyn, sitting down on the arm of the chair.  “And my own pie is in the oven baking.  Aren’t we having a good time, Aunty Stevens?”

“Yes, we are,” said Aunty Stevens, hugging her.  “And now I am going to tell you.  I’m afraid, deary, that I have been a very selfish woman.  When my husband died, I felt as though I had nothing to live for but Dorothy, and when she too went away, I felt that there was no use in living.  The other evening when I heard you all planning for others, it occurred to me to be ashamed, for here is this house, and I am all alone in it.  Why it’s the very thing for a children’s rest and training school.”

“O Aunty Stevens,” said Ethelwyn, getting up close to hug and kiss her.

“I can give the cottage, and I can manage it, and your money can fit it up, and hire teachers.”

“Yes, sir,” said Ethelwyn, wildly excited.  “You can teach them to make pies like mine—­”

“Yes, they can be taught to do all sorts of things about a house—­”

“And Dick?”

“He shall be the first one.”

“And his ’dopted aunt?”

“Yes, indeed.  She can help in many ways.”

“O this is lots better than going to town.  I just wish I could tell mother and Beth.  Seems to me I can’t possibly wait.”

“I see Nan coming.  Suppose ’Vada should take you two down to have your luncheon on the beach.”

“The pie, too?”

“Yes, and other things, if your throat is better, so you can go.”

“O it’s all well, cured with joy, I guess.  Anyway mother said I might go outdoors, you know.  It was the noise and smoke in town she thought would hurt me.”

So they went off on their picnic, and did not come home until time to dress for the train that was to bring back Mrs. Rayburn and Beth.

“Well Ethelwyn,” said Aunty Stevens, meeting her, “how was the picnic?”

“The picnic as far as the pie, and other eating were concerned, was perfect, but Nan was a trial sometimes,” said Ethelwyn, sighing deeply; “she said she couldn’t possibly go home, ’count of her mother having a headache as usual, and she was as cross as a bear.  I had my hands pretty full with that child.  She does not give in to me like my sister—­I will say that.”  And Ethelwyn again sighed deeply, as she walked into the house for her bath and toilet.

When the train stopped, and Elizabeth appeared, Ethelwyn and she rushed at each other, and both began to talk at once.

“I’ve a secret that will make your eyes stick out—­then I made a pie—­”