old-fashioned chintz drapery and big cushions, the new toilet
covers--white over green, the fresh curtains at the windows, the
cushioned window seats, the low table and sewing-chair, even her own
narrow white bed, with its new ruffled spread, all went to make a room
as strange to her, as it was charming and unexpected.

"Oh," she said again, turning to her mother, who had followed them
up-stairs, and stood waiting just outside the door. "How perfectly
lovely it all is--but it isn't for me?"

"Of course it is," Patience said. "Aren't you company--you aren't just
Hilary now, you're 'Miss Shaw' and you're here on a visit; and there's
company asked to supper to-morrow night, and it's going to be such fun!"

Hilary's color came and went. It was something deeper and better than
fun. She understood now why they had done this--why Pauline had said
that--about her not going away; there was a sudden lump in the girl's
throat--she was glad, so glad, she had said that downstairs----about
not wanting to go away.

And when her mother and Patience had gone down-stairs again and Pauline
had begun to unpack the valise, as she had unpacked it a week ago at
The Maples, Hilary sat in the low chair by one of the west windows, her
hands folded in her lap, looking about this new room of hers.

"There," Pauline said presently, "I believe that's all now--you'd
better lie down, Hilary--I'm afraid you're tired."

"No, I'm not; at any rate, not very. I'll lie down if you like, only I
know I shan't be able to sleep."

Pauline lowered the pillow and threw a light cover over her. "There's
something in the top drawer of the dresser," she said, "but you're not
to look at it until you've lain down at least half an hour."

"I feel as if I were in an enchanted palace,", Hilary said, "with so
many delightful surprises being sprung on me all the while." After
Pauline had gone, she lay watching the slight swaying of the wild roses
in the tall jar on the hearth. The wild roses ran rampant in the
little lane leading from the back of the church down past the old
cottage where Sextoness Jane lived. Jane had brought these with her
that morning, as her contribution to the new room.

To Hilary, as to Patience, it seemed as if a magic wand had been waved,
transforming the old dull room into a place for a girl to live and
dream in. But for her, the name of the wand was Love.

There must be no more impatient longings, no fretful repinings, she
tol