It was at a church picnic that Ellen discovered who had sent her the flowers at Christmas and she reported her discovery to Miss Rindy that evening.

“Who was that walking home with you?” asked Miss Rindy, who had been on the watch.

“Frank Ives,” returned Ellen promptly. “He was real nice to me at the picnic, and insisted on carrying my basket home, though, goodness knows, it wasn’t heavy.”

“Humph!” was Miss Rindy’s only comment.

“And, Cousin Rindy, I found out who sent me the flowers last Christmas; it was Frank.”

Miss Rindy gave her a keen look, but there was no conscious expression on the girl’s face. “I don’t have much use for those Iveses,” came the comment. “They were poor trash before the war, and now that they have plenty of money they are insufferable in my opinion. The father made his money in the war, cheating the government, I’m told, and they have splurged out and put on airs till I can’t stand the sight of them. The girl’s a painted doll, and the mother isn’t much better.”

“Frank seems rather jolly,” Ellen defended, “and rather like his name,—frank, you know, and not a bit airish.”

“I don’t know anything about the boy, but I’d advise you to keep clear of the whole outfit.”

However, Ellen did not find this easy to do. A crowd of merry young people were in the habit of gathering every evening at Dr. Rowe’s, and, leaving her cousin to hobnob with some of her cronies, Ellen would slip out and run down to Caro, who always met her with open arms. Knowing that Miss Rindy had not the slightest objection to this acquaintance, Ellen felt free to visit Caro whenever she wished. Frank would bring his guitar, and Clyde Fawcett his mandolin. Ellen would lead the singing, and, though the music was not of the highest order, being chiefly about bananas, Alabama coons, and such foolishness, they all enjoyed it, mainly because it was team work and brought forth youthful laughter and merry jokes. Frank fell into the habit of walking home with Ellen, the two always followed by the statement “I was seeing Nellie home,” sung vociferously by those left behind. Frank was a tall, slim youth of eighteen, inclined to be sentimental, lazy, and pleasure loving. One could hardly blame him for cultivating these traits when he had an over-indulgent mother and a father who thought of little except increasing his bank account, and who never checked his children in the pursuit of any of their inclinations, a course not likely to develop strength of character.

Ellen was not long in discovering the fact that Frank was rather a weak brother, but, in spite of this, she liked his evident admiration, and felt flattered that he had selected her above the other girls as the object of his attentions. She was known as “Hazy,” by the rest of the crowd, because Clyde had overheard Frank telling her that she should be called Hazel because of the color of her eyes.

Clyde was a good-natured, practical lad, always joking, making puns, and telling absurd stories. There were sure to be laughter and nonsense where Clyde was, so he was always in demand. Innocent fun it was, and very good for Ellen, who had lived too much with older persons. Miss Rindy, fine as she was, nevertheless did not think she was doing her duty unless she kept her young charge constantly reminded of the necessity of being useful, and of these reminders Ellen wearied many a time.

“I couldn’t help thinking of Cousin Rindy when they sang that hymn this morning,” she said to Jeremy as they were walking home from church one day.

“What hymn?” asked he.

“That one which says, ‘Direct, control, suggest this day all I design or do or say,’” Ellen told him.

He smiled, then chuckled. “Rindy certainly does like to suggest, and isn’t over pleased when you don’t take her suggestions, but then she isn’t the only one who is built that way,” and Ellen knew he was thinking of his own wife, especially when he went on: “There are worse things than being bossed, and one can be thinking one’s own thought during the process of bossing. That is one thing that saves us, Ellen; nobody can control our thoughts.” And Ellen nodded understandingly. After all her lot was an easier one by far than was Jeremy Todd’s.

The long summer days sped all too rapidly. Ellen learned to can, preserve, and pickle, to cultivate vegetables, to do many housewifely things. She sometimes grew impatient under her cousin’s constant suggestions. There was but one way to do a thing, in Miss Rindy’s opinion, and that was her way. But when the situation became too hard for Ellen she always found a refuge in Jeremy, to whom she would unburden herself, and from whom she always received comfort.

“It would do you good to get away for a little while,” he said to her one day when Miss Rindy had been unusually sharp. “A change always clears the atmosphere. It is good for those who go and for those who stay behind. Are there none of your friends in the city with whom you would like to spend a few days?”

“There are several to whom I should like to go, but I have not been invited, in the first place, and then I don’t feel that I should leave Cousin Rindy. Moreover, I’d need new clothes, and where would my railway ticket come from? Oh, no, I have no reason to complain, and I do not exactly; I am just spilling over a little. You are always so beautifully ready to understand, and you don’t go off and repeat what I say. You are a great refuge, Mr. Jeremy Todd.”

“It is well that some one finds me so,” he returned rather grimly.

Ellen ran off to the post-office and brought back the daily paper and one letter for Miss Rindy, which she took and read in silence. Then she sat for a few moments gazing thoughtfully out of the window. Ellen meantime was looking over the paper.

Presently her cousin turned to her and said, “Ellen, how would you like to spend your Christmas in the city with some of your old friends?”

“I’d like it immensely, but there would be my travelling expenses, and I’d hate to go without some new clothes.” Strange that Jeremy Todd should have mentioned the same plan. “Don’t think I mind wearing my old ones here,” she added quickly, “but I haven’t anything very nice for evenings, you know, and my serge suit is getting pretty shabby; I have worn it so much.”

“That is true; I hadn’t thought about the clothes, and I’m afraid we couldn’t afford both clothes and ticket.” Miss Rindy sighed. “Everything is so much higher nowadays that one’s income doesn’t cover more than half what it used to, and the income doesn’t increase with the price of other things. Well, we’ll say no more about it, but just settle down and have our holidays here.”

But, as it turned out, there was a great deal more to be said about it. During the next few days Miss Rindy was rather short and grumpy, railing against high prices, the United States government, and things in general. Just why she was in this bitter mood Ellen could not find out, but it did not make for any great happiness on her part, for it increased her sense of dependence. “Never mind, Cousin Rindy,” she said one day when there had been a particularly sharp tirade against conditions, “I’ll soon be old enough to make my own living, and perhaps I may be able to help you, too.”

Miss Rindy turned on her. “Don’t you ever say such a thing again. As if I were flinging at you. The thing that troubles me is that I can’t give you everything I’d like to.”

“But, think what you do give me——”

“Not another word. Go down and see if there is any mail.”

Ellen went off, and in a short time was back, lugging a large box.

“What in the world have you there?” inquired Miss Rindy.

“That’s just what I don’t know. It is addressed to me, and Mrs. Perry said that as I was the only Ellen North in town it must be for me.”

“Who sent it?”

“No one that I know. Up in the corner it says it is from Mary West, Baltimore, and I don’t know any Mary West in Baltimore or anywhere else.”

“Open it and we may find some explanation inside.”

“It is fairly heavy,” said Ellen. Then she lifted the box to a chair and began tugging at the string, finally loosening it enough to remove the cover. There was a layer of tissue paper on top but nothing in the way of a card or note. Underneath the paper, carefully wrapped in a towel, was a white crêpe de Chine dress. Ellen shook it out and looked at her cousin in wonderment. “Did you ever?” she exclaimed.

Miss Rindy took the dress and began examining it while Ellen turned her attention to the next thing in the box. This was discovered to be a black wool dress with touches of white embroidery upon it; then came a black sport hat with a white ornament upon it, and, last of all, there was a black coat with a big fur collar. At sight of this last Ellen was so overcome that she flung the coat from her and dropped in a heap on the floor while she burst into tears.

“You silly, silly goose,” cried Miss Rindy. “Get up. What in the world are you crying for?”

“I am so afraid they don’t belong to me, and they are so lovely,” Ellen sobbed.

“Find another Ellen North in the town and I’ll admit that they might not belong to you.”

............