of course there was an afterward. there always is.

the fallow fields of the mcclure estate no longer lie idle under the blue sky, a reproach to their owner. the property was not quite of the “miles and miles” in extent which bonny-gay had imagined, but it was still sufficient to set apart a goodly number of acres as a home for mary jane, who had never known how beautiful the country was until she was driven one day, along a smooth road, under over-hanging trees, and over bridges crossing here and there the prettiest trout stream in the world. the drive was interrupted, “to let the horses rest,” where there was a fine view of a cottage, freshly painted in cream and white, and with the most inviting of piazzas extending from its sides.

mary jane had been allowed to make a little visit at the home of bonny-gay, and had been absent from dingy street for one whole week. this day her absence was to end, even with this day; and she thought it a little odd that bonny-gay should seem so extravagantly happy, as if she were glad that the visit were over. though, of course, the guest knew better than that. there was not the slightest doubt in the heart of either “sunday bairn” concerning their mutual love.

“oh! what a pretty house! we haven’t come this way before, have we? is it on the road to the station, bonny-gay? how happy the folks must be who live there. but i’m happy, too. dingy street will seem perfectly lovely to me when i get there. do you suppose the baby has grown much? i wonder if polly has learned any new things. mother’s a master hand to teach, mother is. she taught me my letters while she was working round. she thinks i can, maybe, be spared to go to school—sometime. how i want to see her. seems as if i could hardly wait.”

“oh! i’m so glad, so glad!” laughed bonny-gay, and even the old coachman’s face beamed with smiles, though in ordinary he felt that it was his business, when on duty, to conduct himself like an automaton.

“i s’pose you’ll write to me, won’t you? you promised, that other time, before you started, you know.”

“no. i shall do no such thing.”

“bonny-gay!” there was a volume of reproach in the tones.

“no. not a line.”

“whose house is this, do you suppose?”

“i don’t ‘suppose’ when i know things.”

“whose, then?”

“let’s go ask.”

“why beulah standish mcclure! what would your mother say? if there’s anything she wants you to be it’s a lady. so i’ve heard her say, time and again.”

“so have i. i’m tired of hearing it. i mean, i’m trying to be one. she wouldn’t care. she’d do it herself, if she were here.”

“never! she never, never would be so rude.”

bonny-gay made a funny little grimace, then leaned sidewise and hugged her friend.

“do the dingy street folks know better how to behave than the place folks, missy?”

“yes, bonny-gay, i think they do”; answered mary jane with dignity. for she had now been associated with the mcclure household long enough to get a fair idea of the proprieties; and she was sure that driving up to the doors of strange houses and inquiring their owners’ names, was not one. however, she could do nothing further, for it was bonny-gay’s carriage and not hers.

“drive in, please.”

so the phaeton turned into the pretty driveway, bordered with shrubs, and around the lawn by a freshly prepared curve to the very front door itself. mary jane had turned her head away and utterly refused to look. she was amazed at bonny-gay, her hitherto model, but she’d be a party to no such impertinence; not she.

then her head was suddenly seized by her mate’s hands and her face forced about toward that unknown doorway.

“look, mary jane bump! you shall look! you shall. if you don’t, you’ll break my heart. look quick!”

mary jane’s lids flew open. then she nearly tumbled off the seat. the gray gentleman was coming down the steps, smiling and holding out his hand. smiling and calling, too:

“they’ve come, mrs. bump! they’ve come!” mary jane, in her newly acquired ideas of etiquette, wondered to hear such a quiet person speak so loudly or jest upon such themes. she had instantly decided that this was some friend’s country house, where he, too, was visiting. odd that his hostess’ name should be like her own.

but all her primness vanished when out from that charming cottage flew a woman with a baby in her arms. a woman in a print gown, clear-starched as only one laundress could do it, and a baby so big and round and rosy he had to be spelled with a capital letter.

“mother! my mother and the baby!”

“welcome home, my child! welcome home!”

and the baby cooed and gurgled something that sounded very like “ome,” without an h.

“has everybody gone crazy?”

“not quite!” answered william bump, appearing from another corner. he was as washed and starched as his wife, and had done for himself even something more, in honor of this great occasion—he was smoothly shaved. he looked years younger than his child had ever seen him and oh! how much happier and more self-respectful. he had found his right place again. he was once more a tiller of the soil; and there is nothing so conducive to true manliness as finding one’s congenial task and feeling the ability to accomplish it.

mary jane’s head buzzed with the strangeness and wonder and delight of it all. yet the explanation was very simple and sensible.

it was impossible but that the mcclures should do something to evince their gratitude to the little saver of their child’s and their own lives and they did that which they knew would be most acceptable to her; they gave her this home in the country.

for the house, with its deed was made to mary jane bump, herself; but over the wide fields surrounding it her father was made overseer and farmer, for his old “boss,” at good but not extravagant wages. the house had long stood empty, ever since the railroad magnate had dropped his former scheme of agriculture on a big scale, but it was in good repair and quite large enough to accommodate even the household of bump. a coat of paint made it like new and during the cripple’s absence from dingy street the flitting was accomplished.

bonny-gay’s own summer home was near at hand, though she had driven mary jane to the cottage by such a roundabout way; and her delight had lain in her knowledge of the happiness that was coming to her friend.

this was a year ago. as yet no cloud has marred the perfect sunshine of mary jane’s new life. she now rides to school in a smart little cart, drawn by the sedatest of piebald ponies. she is apt and ambitious and is learning fast. indeed, she is confidently looking forward to a day in the future when, being both old and wise enough, she shall be matriculated at a certain famous woman’s college; to don the cap and gown whose ample folds shall hide, at last, her physical deformity. god speed you, mary jane! and all your happy sisterhood!