“But there are more,” Sylvie said at length, admonishing them.  “And the Second Cataract is grander than this.”

“You number them going down,” said Mr. Kirkbright.

“Yes.  People always number things as they come to them, don’t they?  Our first is somebody’s else last, I suppose, always.”

“What a little spirit that is!” said Christopher Kirkbright to Miss Euphrasia, dropping back to help his sister down a rocky plunge.

“A little spirit waked up by touch of misfortune,” said Miss Euphrasia.  “She would have gone through life blindfolded by purple and fine linen, if things had been left as they were with her.”

Desire and Sylvie walked on together.

“Leave them alone,” said Miss Kirkbright to her brother.  And she stopped, and began to gather handfuls of the late ferns.

Now she had the chance given her, Desire said it straight out, as she said everything.

“I came up here after you, Miss Argenter.  Did you know it?”

“No.  After me?  How?” asked Sylvie.

“To see if you and your mother would come and make your home with us this winter,—­pretty much as you do with Mrs. Jeffords.  I can say us, because Hazel Ripwinkley, my cousin, is with me nearly all the time; but for the rest of it, I am all the family there really is, now that Rachel Froke has gone away; unless you came to call my dear old Frendely ‘family,’ as I do; seeing that next to Rachel, she is root and spring of it.  You could help me; you could help her; and I think you would like my work.  I should be glad of you; and your mother could have Rachel Froke’s gray parlor.  It is a one-sided proposition, because, you see, I know all about you already, from Miss Euphrasia.  You will have to take me at hazard, and find out by trying.”

“Do you think the old proverb isn’t as true of good words as of mischief,—­that a dog who will fetch a bone will carry a bone?” said Sylvie, laughing with the same impulse by which clear drops stood suddenly in her eyes, and a quick rosiness came into her face.  “Do you suppose Miss Euphrasia hasn’t told me of you?”

“I never thought I was one of the people to be told about,” said Desire, simply.  “Do you think you could come?  Miss Euphrasia believed it would be what you wanted.  There is plenty of room, and plenty of work.  I want you to know that I mean to keep you honestly busy, because then you will understand that things come out honestly even.”

“Even!  Dear Miss Ledwith!”

“Then you’ll try it?”

“I don’t know how to thank Miss Euphrasia or you.”

“There are no thanks in the bargain,” said Desire, smiling.  “I want you; if you want me, it is a Q.E.D.  If we do dispute about anything, we’ll leave it out to Miss Euphrasia.  She knows how to make everything right.  She shall be our broker.  It is a good thing to have one, in some kinds of trade.”

They had come around the curve in the road now, that brought them alongside the shady gorge at the foot of Cone Hill.  Here was the little group of brick-makers’ houses; empty, weather-beaten, their door-yards overgrown with brakes and mulleins.  Beyond, up the ledge, to which a rough drive-way, long disused, led off, was the quaint, rambling edifice that with its feet of stone and brick went “walking up” the mountain.