letter over his head
as he ran in to tell Mrs. Moss the glad news, and begin at once to plan
the welcome they would give Miss Celia, for he never called her anything
else.

During their afternoon stroll in the mellow sunshine, Ben continued to
talk of her, never tired of telling about his happy summer under her
roof. And Mr. Brown was never weary of hearing, for every hour showed
him more plainly what a lovely miracle her gentle words had wrought, and
every hour increased his gratitude, his desire to return the kindness in
some humble way. He had his wish, and did his part handsomely when he
least expected to have a chance.

On Monday he saw Mr. Towne, and, thanks to the Squire's good word, was
engaged for a month on trial, making himself so useful that it was soon
evident he was the right man in the right place. He lived on the hill,
but managed to get down to the little brown house in the evening for a
word with Ben, who just now was as full of business as if the President
and his Cabinet were coming.

Everything was put in apple-pie order in and about the old house; the
great gate, with much creaking of rusty hinges and some clearing away of
rubbish, was set wide open, and the first creature who entered it was
Sancho, solemnly dragging the dead mullein which long ago had grown
above the top of it. October frosts seemed to have spared some of the
brightest leaves for this especial occasion, and on Saturday the
gate-way was decorated with gay wreaths, red and yellow sprays strewed
the flags, and the porch was a blaze of color with the red woodbine,
that was in its glory when the honeysuckle was leafless.

Fortunately, it was a half-holiday, so the children could trim and
chatter to their hearts' content, and the little girls ran about
sticking funny decorations where no one would ever think of looking for
them. Ben was absorbed in his flags, which were sprinkled all down the
avenue with a lavish display, suggesting several Fourth-of-Julys rolled
into one. Mr. Brown had come down to lend a hand, and did so most
energetically, for the break-neck things he did with his son during the
decoration fever would have terrified Mrs. Moss out of her wits if she
had not been in the house giving last touches to every room, while Ronda
and Katy set forth a sumptuous tea.

All was going well, and the train would be due in an hour, when luckless
Bab nearly turned the rejoicing into mourning, the feast into ashes. She
heard her m