She was
aware of Richard's big voice booming through the hall, of Geoffrey's
mocking laugh.

But she did not go down among them. She ate her meals after the others
had finished. She did not wait upon the table and she did not sit upon
the stairs. In the afternoon she wrote a long letter to her Great-uncle
Rodman, and she went early to bed.

She was waked in the morning by the bustle of departure. Some of the Old
Gentlemen went back by motor, others by train. Warmed by a hearty
breakfast, bundled into their big coats, they were lighted on their way
by Eric Brand.

It was just as the sun flashed over the horizon and showed the whiteness
of a day swept clear by the winds of the night that the train for the
north carried off the Dutton-Ames, Philip and Eve.

Evelyn went protesting. "Some day you are going to regret it, Richard."

"Don't croak. Wish me good luck, Eve."

But she would not. Yet when she stood at last on the train steps to say
"Good-bye," she had in her hand one of the roses he had given her and
which she had worn. She touched it lightly to her lips and tossed it to
him.

By the time he had picked it up the train was on its way, and Evelyn,
looking back, had her last glimpse of him standing straight and tall
against the morning sky, the rose in his hand.

It was eight o'clock when Eric drove Anne and Peggy through the drifts
to the Crossroads school. It was nine when Geoffrey Fox came down to a
late breakfast. It was ten when Richard and his mother and the dog Toby
in a hired conveyance arrived at the place which had once been Nancy's
home.

Imposing, even in its shabbiness, stood the old house, at the end of an
avenue of spired cedars.

As they opened the door a grateful warmth met them.

"David has been here," Nancy said. "Oh, Richard, Richard, what a glorious
day to begin."

And now there came from among the shadows a sound which made them stop
and listen. "Tick, tock," said the great hall clock.

"Mother, who wound it?"

Nancy Brooks laughed tremulously. "Cousin David had the key. In all these
years he has never let the old clock run down. It seemed queer to think
of it ticking away in this empty house."

There were tears in her eyes. He stooped and kissed her. "And now that
you are here, you are going to be happy?"

"Very happy, dear boy."

It was nearly twelve when David Tyson came limping up the path. He had a
basket in one hand, and a cane in the other. Behind him trotted a
weed