No, it had not
stopped. And the old dial, catching the sunlight through leafless trees,
told the same hour. Drawing her furs about her, Miss Drayton sat down on
a stone bench.
From below, came the street noises,--jangle of cars, rumble of wagons,
clatter and clamor of passers-by. In the old garden, withered leaves
drifted down on the still air or rustled underfoot, bare branches
wavered against the clear blue sky, and purple shadows flickered on the
leaf-strewn walk. How quiet it was! how peaceful! By degrees, the quiet
and the peace crept into Miss Drayton's heart. She was content to wait.
In this good world of ours, everything is sure to come out right in the
end.
And then, in the mellow sunlight, down the box-bordered walk, past the
sun-dial, toward the stone bench, came a little figure.
"Mr. Brown said that a lady--oh! oh! it's you!"
"Dear little Anne! dear little Anne!" She was clasped in the arms--dear,
cuddly arms!--of her friend.
What laughter, tears, and chatter there were!
"But we must go home," said Miss Drayton, presently. "Pat will be there
now. We'll come back to see your cousin."
As they entered the hall, they heard from above the click-click of
dumb-bells.
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