For it was not his son. Neither was
it the long-coated figure of the chauffeur,
at sight of which each girl would have
passionately hugged herself--if not him.

But it was a messenger whom Andrew
had sent.

And at sight of her, of the fresh mountain
rose in her cheeks, with its heart of
it.

American gold, the climbing flash in her
hazel eye, Una just tumbled into sobs,
herself, that little fixed star in her eye
blazing pathetic welcome, for this was
her first taste of emergency's pinch, emergency's
call for sacrifice.

"Are you--oh! are you come to stay
with us--us?" she cried, running forward
with childish confidence.

"That I be--girlie!" responded the
mountain woman, throwing a warm arm
around her. "The man that borrowed
our little aut'mobile truck and set off in
it at a score down the mountain, the man
with a queer blowpipe at the roots of his
tongue, he told me that he had left two
[[288]]

p287 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p288w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p289

v?