“Why, yes, mother; rains always have been over sometime.  They never knew one that wasn’t, and they go by experience.”

There was nothing more to be said upon the rain topic, after that simple piece of logic.

“If there doesn’t come Badgett up the hill in all the pour!”

Badgett drove the daily stage from Tillington up through Pemunk and Sandon.  He came round by Brickfields when there was anybody to bring.

Badgett drove up over the turf door-yard, close to the porch.  He jumped off, unbuttoned the dripping canvas door, and flung it up.

Mrs. Jeffords was in the entry on the instant; surprised, puzzled, but all ready to be hospitable, to she didn’t know whom.  Relations from Indiana, as likely as not.  That is the way people arrive in the country; and a whole houseful to stay over night does not startle the hostess as an unexpected guest to dinner may a city one.

But the persons who alighted from the clumsy stage-wagon were Mr. Christopher Kirkbright, Miss Euphrasia, and Desire Ledwith.

“Didn’t you get our letter?” said Miss Euphrasia, as Sylvie, from her mother’s door-way, saw who she was, and sprang forward.

“Why, no, we didn’t get no letter,” said Mrs. Jeffords.  “Father hasn’t been to the office for two days, it’s stormed so continual.  But you’re just as welcome, exactly.  Step right in here.”  And she flung open the door of her best parlor, where the new boughten carpet was, for the damp feet and the dripping waterproof.

“No, indeed; not there; we couldn’t have the conscience.”

“’Tain’t very comfortable either, after all,” said Mrs. Jeffords, changing her own mind in a bustle.  “It’s been kinder shut up.  Come right out to the sittin’-room-fire finally.”

Mr. Kirkbright and Miss Ledwith followed her; Miss Euphrasia went right into Mrs. Argenter’s room, after she had taken off her waterproof in the hall.

As she came in at the door, a great flash of sunshine streamed from under the western clouds, in at the parlor window, followed her across the hall and enveloped her in light as she entered.

“Why, the storm’s over!” cried Sylvie, joyfully.  “You come in on a sunbeam, like the Angel Gabriel.  But you always do.  How came you to come?”

“I came to answer your letter.  You know I don’t like to write very well.  And I’ve brought my brother, and a dear friend of mine whom I want you to know.  It did not rain in Boston when we started, but it came on again before noon, and all the afternoon it has been a splendid down-pour.  Something really worth while to be out in, you know; not a little exasperating drizzle.  That’s the kind of rain one can’t bear, and catches cold in.  How the showers swept round the hills, and the cascades thundered and flashed as we came by!  What a lovely region you have discovered!”

“It’s so beautiful that you’re here!  We’ll go down to the cascades to-morrow.  Won’t you just come and introduce me to the others, and then come back to mother?”