f and Just.

The new fireplace was the heart of the little old house. Moreover, so
cunningly had it been designed and built that it seemed to have been in
its place from the beginning.

Doctor Churchill and Charlotte had made a certain distant field the
object of many walks and drives, and had personally selected the
"hardheads" of which the fireplace was constructed. A small bedroom,
opening off the square little parlour, had had its partition removed,
and in this alcove-like end of the room the fireplace had been built.

The effect was very good, and the resulting apartment, the only one on
the lower floor which could be spared for general use, had become at
once the place upon which Charlotte was concentrating most of her
efforts, meaning to make it a room where everybody should wish to come.

The usual interruption of a summons for Doctor Churchill to the office
in the wing sent the assembled company off again. Just as Charlotte was
leaving the room, however--the last of all, because she could not bring
herself to desert the joy of the copper panel in its setting of gray
stone--Doctor Churchill hurriedly returned.

Seeing Charlotte alone and about to vanish, he ran after her and drew
her back.

"I have to go right away, dear," he said. "But I want to look at the new
gift alone with you a minute. It's really a fine addition, isn't it?"

"Oh, beautiful! In the firelight and the lamplight how that copper will
gleam!"

"I wish we knew to whom we owe such a thought of us. I like the
sentiment, too, don't you, Charlotte? I hope--do you know, it's one of
my pleasantest hopes--that our home is going to be one that knows how to
dispense hospitality. The real sort--not the sham."

Charlotte looked up at him and smiled.

"As if I need tell you what I wish!" he said, with gay tenderness. "You
know every thought I have about it."

"We'll make people happy here," said Charlotte. "Indeed, I want to, Andy
Churchill. This room--they shall find a welcome always--rich and poor.
Especially--the poor ones."

"Especially the poor ones. Won't old Mrs. Wilsey think it's pleasant
here? And Tom Brannigan--he'll be scared at first, but we'll show him
it's a jolly place--Charlotte, I musn't get to dreaming day-dreams now,
or I never can summon strength of purpose to wait another week. One week
from to-day! What an age it seems!"

"Run and make your calls," advised Charlotte, laughing, as she escaped
from him and hurried to the