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72 ended. She caught a severe cold, was seriously ill for some months this last winter, and when she recovered it was but a partial recovery—her beautiful voice was completely gone. So now she is laid on the shelf. She wrote to me”

“She wants to come home!” cried Mary, starting to her feet, and Jane and Florimel were on theirs as quickly.

“Sit down, children; she is not outside,” smiled Mr. Moulton. “She wrote me that ‘if her little girls were not angry with her for having cast them off for her career, if they would receive her, now that her career was ended and she had nothing but them to turn to, she would like to come here.’ She added that she realized that it had a contemptible look to turn to her children only when nothing else was left, but she wanted them now, and hoped that they would forgive her. She also said, quite simply and, I think, sincerely, that she ‘had to go.’”

“When will she get here?” cried Mary, still clasping and unclasping her hands, still white to the lips.

“Will any one have to go to get her?” demanded Jane. “I’ll go.”

“Oh, say, couldn’t she take an airship and