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The aunt and her nieces were standing in the carry-all, she majestic, they laughing and weeping in the one act. I waved them into their seats.

"Such as which?" asked the Yankee, with a twinkle. "There were two kinds."

"No, sir."

"Hmm; Charlotte Oliver. Are you sure you have the name just right?"

"My mother! Do you know my mother?"

Another mile, another half; then my horror and dismay broke into gesture and speech, and over and over I reviled myself as a fool, a traitorous fool, to be fooled into confession of my errand! I moaned with physical pain; every fatigue of the long day now levied payment, and my back, knees, shoulders, ached cruelly. But my heart ached most, and I bowed in the saddle and cried--

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