I looked back at the end of the avenue and saw her standing there , short-skirted and hatless , fronting the lowering sun with those fearless eyes of hers . So I looked my last on the child Betty . That was a lonely year . My occupation was gone and I began to fear that I had outlived my usefulness . Life seemed flat , stale , and unprofitable . Betty 's weekly letters were all that lent it any savor . They were spicy and piquant enough . Betty was discovered to have unsuspected talents in the epistolary line . At first she was dolefully homesick , and begged me to let her come home . When I refused -- it was amazingly hard to refuse -- she sulked through three letters , then cheered up and began to enjoy herself . But it was nearly the end of the year when she wrote : `` I 've found out why you sent me here , Stephen -- and I 'm glad you did . '' I had to be away from home on unavoidable business the day Betty returned to Glenby . But the next afternoon I went over . I found Betty out and Sara in . The latter was beaming . Betty was so much improved , she declared delightedly . I would hardly know `` the dear child . '' This alarmed me terribly . What on earth had they done to Betty ? I found that she had gone up to the pineland for a walk , and thither I betook myself speedily .
When I saw her coming down a long , golden-brown alley I stepped behind a tree to watch her -- I wished XXXXX see her , myself unseen .
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