Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Lost, stolen, or strayed, the Young Person!. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. "Ah, I see it all!" he cried, with a quick glance. He went on munching his water-chestnuts, and stared at the skyline. "You poor child!" said Prudence. He had more time for her. His two wives have been here. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. Her features are the same, yet the change has written its mark into her face.
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