But not long did Madam Conway suffer her mind to dwell
upon matters so trivial. Hillsdale was not far away, and she came each
moment nearer. Two more stations were reached--the haunted swamp was
passed--Chicopee River was in sight--the bridge appeared in view--the
whistle sounded, and she was there.
Half an hour later, and Theo, looking from her window, started in
surprise as she saw the village omnibus drive up to their door.
"'Tis grandmother!" she cried, and running to meet her she asked why
she had returned so soon.
"They are coming at noon," answered the excited woman--then, hurrying
into the house and throwing off her hood, she continued: "He's found
her at the Falls; they are between here and Albany now; tell
everybody to hurry as fast as they can; tell Hannah to make a
chicken pie--Maggie was fond of that; and turkey--tell her to kill a
turkey--it's Maggie's favorite dish--and ice cream, too! I wish I had
some this minute," and she wiped the perspiration from her burning
face.
No more hysterics now; no more lonesome nights; no more thoughts of
death--for Margaret was coming home--the best loved of them all.
Joyfully the servants told to each other the glad news, disbelieving
entirely the report fast gaining circulation that the queenly Maggie
was lowly born--a grandchild of old Hagar. Up and down the stairs
Madam Conway ran, flitting from room to room, and tarrying longest
in that of Margaret, where the sunlight came in softly through the
half-closed blinds and the fair summer blossoms smiled a welcome for
the expected one.
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