you don't mean – oh, what do you mean?"
She leaned forward, looking eagerly up into the other's face. "Alva, Alva, it isn't – it can't be – oh, then you are really – "
Two great tears rolled down that other woman's face. She simply bowed her head and said nothing.
Lassie stared speechless for a minute; then – "I'm so glad – so glad," she stammered, "so glad. And you'll tell me all about it to-morrow?"
"Yes, dear," Alva whispered, "I'll tell you all to-morrow. I'll be glad to tell it all to you. The truth is, Lassie, that I thought that I was strong enough to live these days alone, but I learned that I am weaker than I thought. You see how weak I am. I am weeping now, but they are tears of joy, believe me – they are tears of joy; I am the happiest and most blessed woman in the whole wide world. And yet, it is your coming that leads me to weep. I had to have some outlet, dear, some one to whom to speak. And I want to live, Lassie, and be strong, very, very strong – for God."
Lassie sat staring.
"You don't understand, do you?" Alva said to her, with the same smile with which she had put the same question to Ingram.
But Lassie did not answer the question as Ingram had answered it.
"You will teach me and I shall learn to understand," she said.
CHAPTER III
INTRODUCING LASSIE TO MRS. RAY
The next morning dawned gorgeous.
When Lassie, in her little gray kimono, stole gently in to wake her friend, she found Alva already up and dressed, standing at the window, looking out over the October beauty that spread afar before her. It was a wonderful sight, all the trees bright and yet brighter in their autumn gladness, while the grass sparkled green through the dew that had been frost an hour before. The view showed the radiance fading off into the distant blue, where bare brown fields told of the harvest garnered and the ground made ready for another spring.
Lassie pressed Alva's arm as she peeped over her shoulder, and the other turned in silence and kissed her tenderly.
Side by side they looked forth together for some minutes longer, and then Lassie whispered:
"I could hardly get to sleep last night – for thinking of it all, you know. You don't guess how interested I am. I do so want to know everything."
Alva turned to regard her with her calm smile.
"But when you did get to sleep, you slept well, didn't you?" she asked; "tell me that, first of all."
"Why, is it late? Did I sleep too awfully long? Why didn't you call me?"
"Oh, my dear, why? It's barely nine, and that isn't late at all for a girl who spent all yesterday on the train. I let you sleep on purpose. What's the use of waking up before the mail comes? And that isn't in till half-past under the most favorable circumstances; and even then it never is distributed until quarter to ten. I thought we'd get our letters after our breakfast, and then carry them across the bridge with us. Would you like to do that? I have to cross the bridge every morning."
"Cross the bridge? That means to go to your house?"
"Yes, dear."
"How nice! I'm crazy to see your house. Is it far from here to the post-office? Will that be on our way?"
"That is the post-office there – by the trees." Alva pointed to a brown, two-story, cottage-like structure three hundred yards further up the track.
"The little house with the box nailed to the gate-post?"
"It isn't such a little house, Lassie; it's quite a mansion. The lady who lives in it rents the upper part for a flat and takes boarders down-stairs."
"Does she take many?"
Alva laughed. "She told me that she only had a double-bed and a half-bed, so she was limited to eight."
"Oh!"
"I know, my dear, I thought that very same 'Oh' myself; but that's what she said. And that really is as naught compared to the rest of her capabilities."
"What else does she do?"
"I'm afraid I can't remember it all at once, but among other things she runs a farm, raises chickens, takes in sewing, cuts hair, canes chairs and is sexton of the church. She's postmistress, too, and does several little things around town."
Lassie drew back in amazement. "You're joking."
"No, dear, I'm not joking. She's the eighth wonder in the world, in my opinion."
"She must be quite a character."
"Every one's quite a character in the country. Country life develops character. I expect to become a character myself, very soon; indeed I'm not very positive but that I am one already."
"But how does the woman find time to do so much?"
"There is more time in the country than in the city; you'll soon discover that. One gets up and dresses and breakfasts and goes for the mail, and reads the letters and answers them, and then its only quarter past ten, – in the country."
Lassie withdrew from the arm that held her. "It won't be so with me to-day, at all events," she laughed. "What will they think of me if every one here is as prompt as that?"
"It doesn't matter to-day; we'll be prompt ourselves to-morrow. But you'd better run now. I'm in a hurry to get to my house; I'm as silly over that house as a little child with a new toy, – sillier, in fact, for my interest is in ratio with my growth, and I've wanted a home for so long."
"But you've had a home."
"Not of my very ownest own, not such as this will be."
The young girl looked up into her face. "I'm so very curious," she said, with emphasis; "I want so to know the story."
Alva touched her cheek caressingly, "I'll tell you soon," she promised, "after you've seen the house."
Lassie went back into her room and proceeded to make her toilet, which was soon finished.
They went down into the little hotel dining-room then for breakfast, and found it quite deserted, but neat and sweet, and pleasantly odorous of bacon.
"Such a dolls' house of a hotel," said Lassie.
"It's a cozy place," Alva answered. "I like this kind of hotel. It's sweet and informal. If they forget you, you can step to the kitchen and ask for more coffee. I'm tired of the world and the world's conventionality. I told Mrs. Lathbun yesterday that Ledge would spoil me for civilization hereafter. I like to live in out-of-the-way places."
"Mrs. Lathbun is the hostess, I suppose?"
"No, Mrs. O'Neil is the hostess, or rather, she's the host's wife. You must meet her to-day. Such a pretty, brown-eyed, girlish creature, – the last woman in the world to bring into a country hotel. She says herself that when you've been raised with a faucet and a sewer, it's terrible to get used to a cistern and a steep bank. She was born and brought up in Buffalo."
By this time Mary Cody had entered, beaming good morning, and placed the hot bacon and
