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At half-past two Mrs. Lennox stood up with a determined air. “I ain’t goin’ to wait here another minute,” said she. “I’m goin’ to find her. I don’t know but she’s fell into the brook, or got run over.” Mrs. Lennox’s face was all drawn with anxiety.

“I’d like to know how you’re goin’,” said Aunt Maria.

“I guess I can push this chair along the road just as well as in a room.”

“Pretty-lookin’ sight you’d be goin’ a mile with one knee in a wooden chair.”

“I guess I don’t care much how I look if I only find–her.” Mrs. Lennox’s voice broke into a wail.

“You just sit down and keep calm,” said Aunt Maria. “If anybody’s goin’, I am.”

“Oh, you can’t.”

“Yes, I can, too. I ain’t quite so far gone that I can’t walk a mile. You ain’t goin’ a step on that scalt foot an’ get laid up, with that weddin’ comin’ off, not if I know it. I’m just goin’ to slip on my gaiter-shoes an’ my sun-bonnet, an’ take the big green umbrella to keep the sun off.”

When Aunt Maria was equipped and started, Mrs. Lennox watched her progress down the road with frantic impatience. It seemed to her that she could have gone faster with her chair. Truth was, that poor Aunt Maria, plodding heavily along in her gaiter-shoes, holding the green umbrella over her flaming face, made but slow and painful progress, and it was well that Mr. Lennox and Cynthia Lennox came home two hours before they were expected. It was three o’clock when Mr. Lennox came driving into the yard in the open buggy. Cynthia, erect and blooming, with her big bandbox in her lap, sat beside him, and the new Jersey cow, fastened by a rope to the tail of the buggy, came on behind with melancholy moos. Cynthia had bought her wedding-bonnet sooner than she had expected, so she had come home on the three o’clock train instead of the five; and her father had bought the cow sooner than he had expected, and had come to the railroad crossing just about the time that Cynthia’s train arrived. So he had stopped and taken in her and her bandbox, and they had all ridden home together.

Mrs. Lennox stood in the kitchen door when they drove in.

“Oh, mother,” Cynthia cried out, “I’ve had splendid luck! I’ve got the handsomest bonnet!”

“I guess you won’t care much about bonnets,” answered her mother; “Fidelia’s lost.” She spoke quite slowly and calmly, then she began to weep wildly and lament. It was quite a time before she could make the case plain to them, and Cynthia and her bandbox, and Mr. Lennox and the horse and buggy and cow, all remained before her in a petrified halt.

As soon as Mr. Lennox fairly understood, he sprang out of the buggy, untied the cow, led her into the barn, turned the team around, with a sharp grate of the wheels, jumped in again, and gathered up the reins. Cynthia, her rosy cheeks quite pale, still sat in her place, and the tears splashed on her new bandbox cover. Mrs. Lennox had set her chair outside the door, and followed it, with a painful effort. “Stop, father!” she cried; “I’m goin’ too!”

“Oh, mother, you can’t!” said Mr. Lennox and Cynthia, together.

“I’m goin’. You needn’t say a word. Father, you get out an’ help me in.”

Mr. Lennox got out and lifted, while Cynthia pulled. Mrs. Lennox’s injured foot suffered, but she set her mouth hard, and said nothing. They started at a good pace, three on a seat, with Mr. Lennox in the middle, driving.

They had got about half-way to the store when they overtook Aunt Maria. Aunt Maria, with the green umbrella overhead, was proceeding steadily, with a sideways motion that seemed more effective than the forward one.

“I’ll get out, and let her get in,” said Cynthia.

“No,” said her father; “it won’t do; it ‘ill break the springs. We can’t ride three on a seat with Aunt Maria, anyhow, and I’ve got to drive.”