“Ka-a-a-a-a-a-a” echoed through the wooded slopes of Kettle. Startled, birds winged away from the treetops, little wild creatures skurried through the undergrowth, yet in the care-free, silvery tinkle of those merry voices there was no note to alarm.

Jerry was leading Isobel and Gyp down the trail from Rocky Top. Baskets, swinging from their shoulders, told of the jolly day’s outing. Isobel and Gyp were dressed in khaki middies and short skirts; Isobel’s hair was drawn back simply from her face and bound with a bright red ribbon; Gyp’s cheeks were tanned a ruddy brown, against which her lips shone scarlet. Jerry wore the boyish outfit in which John Westley had found her. Three happier, merrier girls could not have been found the world over.

A week a week of hourly wonders, had passed since the girls had arrived at Sunnyside with Uncle Johnny. To Jerry the homecoming was even sweeter than she had dreamed. And to find her precious mother “exactly” the same, she whispered in the privacy of a close hug, dispelled a little fear that had tormented her.

“Why, darling, did you think I’d be different?”

“I don’t know ” Jerry had colored, but tightened the clasp of her arms. “It’s been so dreadfully long! I thought maybe I’d forgotten

And Little-Dad had not changed a bit, nor the house, nor the garden, nor Bigboy not a thing, Jerry had found on an excited round. The old lilac bushes were in full leaf, the syringas were in blossom, there were still daffodils in the corner near the fir-tree gate; glossy, spiky leaves marked a row of onions just where her onions had always grown Little-Dad had put in her seed; the sun slanted in gold-brown bars across the bare floor of the familiar, low-ceilinged living-room, softening to a ruddy glow the bindings of the familiar books everywhere. Her own little room was just as she had left it. Oh, the wonder, the joy of coming back! How different it would have been if there had been any change. What if Sweetheart she rushed headlong to hug her mother again.

Then there was the fun of taking Gyp and Isobel everywhere. They were genuinely enraptured with all her favorite haunts; the magic of Kettle caught them just as it had caught Uncle Johnny that day he ran away from his guide. Every morning they were up with the birds and off over the trail to return laden with the treasures of Kettle, wild strawberries, lingering trillium, wild currant blossoms, moist baby ferns. Together these girls brought to quiet Sunnyside a gaiety it had not known before. To Mrs. Westley, after her lonely winter, it was as though a radiant summer sun had flooded suddenly through a gray mist.

And Jerry had to tell her mother everything that had happened all through the winter. She saved it all for such moments as she and her mother stole to wander off together; it was easier to talk to mother alone, and then there were so many things she wanted only mother to know concerning most of them she had written, to be sure, but she liked to think it all over again, herself those first days of school, the classes, the teachers, the Ravens, basketball and hockey and that never-to-be-forgotten day at Haskin’s Hill, the Everett party, the two “real plays,” the great vaulted church where music floated from hidden pipes only concerning the debate and that stormy evening when she had discarded her “charity” clothes did she keep silent. School, school, school; Mrs. Westley, listening intently, smiling wistfully at her big girl, in spirit lived with her through each experience, happy or trying, rejoicing that she had had them. And yet in her eyes there lingered a furtive questioning. Jerry, reveling in her own happiness, did not realize that her mother was watching her every expression with the anguishing fear that her Jerry might have changed. And she had changed; she had grown, though she was still as straight as one of Kettle’s young fir trees; her winter’s experience had left its mark on her sunny face in a new firmness of the lips, a thoughtfulness behind the shining eyes.

“Will these new friends, Jerry, these fine times you have had make you love Sunnyside less or be discontented here?” Her mother had interrupted her flood of confidences to say.

Jerry stared in such astonishment that her mother laughed, a shaky laugh, and kissed her.

“Because, my dear, remember you are only Jerauld Travis of Kettle Mountain, and your life must lie just here. Oh, my precious, I thank God I have you back!” she added with an intensity of emotion that startled and puzzled Jerry.

“Why, mother, honest truly there’s never been a moment when I wasn’t glad I was only Jerauld Travis, and I wouldn’t trade places with a soul, only ” and Jerry could not finish, for she did not know just what she wanted to say. She was oddly disturbed. Did her mother begrudge her those happy weeks at Highacres? Had she been afraid of something? And was she the same Jerry who had wished on the Wishing-rock to just see the world which lay beyond her mountain? Didn’t she want to go away again sometime, to college? And what would her mother say if she told her that?

Jerry managed to lock away these tormenting thoughts while she and the girls were roaming Kettle. Certainly there was not a shadow in the face she lifted now to the caress of the mountain breeze nor in the voice that caroled its “Ka-a-a-a-a” and laughed as the echoes answered.

From the Witches’ Glade where the trail sloped down between white birches, the girls ran fleetly, leaped the little gate through the fringe of fir trees and, laughing and panting, tumbled upon the veranda of the bungalow straight into Uncle Johnny’s arms!

Uncle Johnny had only stopped at Kettle long enough to unload his girls and their baggage, then he had hurried on to Boston to consult the lawyers who were tracing Craig Winton. He had not expected to return for three or four weeks. “Not until I have this thing off my mind,” he had explained to Isobel and Gyp.

Isobel, though she now looked at it from another angle, still thought it very foolish to pursue the search for this Craig Winton. The Boston men had reported that their search had led them to a blank wall and that there was little use spending more money on it. But in spite of this, Uncle Johnny had persisted in going ahead on some clue of his own and wasting precious time away from Barbara Lee. Both Isobel and Gyp, from thinking that no woman in the world was good enough for Uncle Johnny, had now veered around to the happy conviction that heaven had patterned Barbara Lee especially for Uncle Johnny’s pleasure. They beamed upon the engagement with such approval that even Uncle Johnny, head over heels in love as he was, grew a little embarrassed by their enthusiasm. Gyp also became reconciled to the school library as a setting for the proposal and declared that, thereafter, the library at Highacres would be enshrined in her heart as something other than a room to “make one’s head ache.” But both girls were disgusted that Uncle Johnny could cheerfully leave the lady of his choice and go off on a search that appeared so useless! It was contrary to all their rules of romance.

Something in Uncle Johnny’s face and his unexpected appearance drew an exclamation from each of the girls. Almost in the same voice, with no more greeting than to vigorously grasp him by shoulder and arm, they cried: “Did you find her? Have you come to stay?”

He hesitated just a moment and glanced questioningly at Mrs. Travis. Then for the first time the girls noticed that Mrs. Travis was very pale, that her eyes burned dark against the whiteness of her skin as though she had been racked by a great agitation and her hands clasped tightly the back of a chair. She nodded to John Westley.

“Yes, my search is ended. You see I had the right clue though it was only the mention of a pair of eyes. Do you remember in Uncle Peter’s letter about Craig Winton’s eyes? ’They were glowing like they were lighted within.’ Well, have you ever seen a pair of eyes like that? I have only where Craig Winton’s were sad with disappointment, these others glow from the pure joy of being alive

“Jerry?” interrupted Gyp, in a queer, tangled voice.

“Yes Jerauld.”

“Oh-h!”

The girls stared at Jerry and Jerry stared at John Westley. Was he just joking? How could it be? She turned to her mother. Her mother nodded again.

“Yes, dear, you are Jerauld Winton. But we gave you your stepfather’s name he was so good to us!”

In that moment of unutterable surprise Jerry’s loyal little heart went out quickly to Little-Dad.

“Oh, even if he is a stepfather I love him just the same!” she exclaimed, wishing he was there that she might hug him.

“You see, beginning at this end made my search quicker. It was hindered a little, though, because the county courthouse at Waytown, where the records of Jerry’s birth and Craig Winton’s death were filed, burned a few years ago with everything in it. But I stumbled on an old codger who used to be postmaster at Waytown and he told me more in a few moments than all the Boston detectives had found in months. I went on to Boston to interview those old friends the lawyers there had found and then came back.”

There was a puzzled look on each face. Hesitatingly, Jerry put the question that was in each mind.

“But, mother, why didn’t you ever tell? Were you ashamed?”

Her mothers face flared with color. She stepped forward and laid an entreating hand on Jerrys. Oh, no no!” she cried. “You must not think that no one must. He your father was the finest man that ever lived. But he made me promise, when you were a wee, wee baby, that I would try to protect you from the bitterness of the world that had broken his heart. Oh, he died of a broken heart, a broken spirit. He lived in his dreams, his inventions were a part of him like his right arm! When they failed he suffered cruelly. Then he had one that he knew was good. But ” she stopped abruptly, remembering that these people were Westleys. “But he could never have been happy. He was not practical or or sensible. His brain wore out his body it was always, always working along one line. And before he died, he seemed to have the fear that you might grow up to be like him ’a puppet for the thieves to fleece and feed upon,’ he used to say. After he died, we stayed on in Dr. Travis’ cabin, where he had sheltered and cared for your father. He moved down into the village but, oh, he was so good to us! When, two years later I married him and we built this home, I vowed that I would keep only the blessed peace of Sunnyside for you. So I never told you of your own father and those dreadful years of poverty. But I was not ashamed!”

Jerry, not knowing exactly why, put one arm around her mother’s shoulder in a protecting manner. “Poor, brave Sweetheart,” she whispered, laying her cheek against her mother’s arm.

Isobel and Gyp were held silent by a disturbing sense of embarrassment. That it should have been Jerry’s father whom their Uncle Peter had “fleeced” the horrible word which had slipped reminiscently from Mrs. Travis’ lips burned in their ears! But a sudden delight finally broke loose Gyp’s tongue.

“Oh, Jerry, isn’t it exciting to think we’ve been hunting everywhere and all the time it’s you! I’m glad ’cause it sort of makes you a relation.” And her logic was so extremely stretched that everyone laughed.

“I’d rather you got the money than anyone in the world,” added Isobel.

The money Jerry had not thought of that! Her face flushed scarlet, then paled.

“Oh, I don’t want it,” she cried. “You’ve done so much for me.”

“My dear,” Uncle Johnny’s voice was very business-like. “It is something you have not the right to decline, because it was given by a dying man to purchase a peace of mind for his last moment on earth. And now let me look you over, Jerry-girl.” He tilted her chin and studied her face. Then he glanced approvingly down her slim length, smiling at her boyish garments. “I guess my experiment hasn’t hurt you,” he said, though no one there knew what he meant.

The evening was very exciting why would it not be when Jerry had found the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow right in her very own lap? Uncle Johnny stayed on overnight; some repairs to a tire were necessary before he started homeward.

“Do you remember what you said once, Jerry, when I asked you what you would do if you had a lot of money?” Gyp had asked as they sat out on the veranda watching the stars. “And you said you’d go to school as long as ever you could and then

Jerry had raised suddenly to an upright position from the step where she was curled.

“Oh” she cried, her voice deep with delight “now I can go back to Highacres

Then, at the very moment of her ecstasy, she was strangely disturbed by the quick touch of her mother’s hand laid on her shoulder.