' he speaks of,"
thought Marise. She was not aware of any wistfulness in her recognition
of this fact, but she was moved to stand closer to her husband, and once
as she moved about, setting the table, to lay her fingers for an instant
on his hand.

"We're going to have ice-cream, Eugenia," announced Paul, leaning on the
arm of her chair after she and all the others were seated again.

"That's good news," she said equably. She laid a small, beautiful hand
on the child's shoulder, and with a smooth, imperceptible movement, set
him a little further from her. Paul did not observe this manoeuver, but
his mother did, with an inward smile. "Paul, don't hang on Eugenia like
that," she called to him.

"But she smells so sweet!" protested the little boy.

Mr. Welles held out a sympathizing hand and drew the child to him. He
too had seen that gesture.

"Come here, all you little folks," ordered Marise, now seriously
beginning to serve the meal, "and start waiting on the table."

"Cold lamb!" cried Cousin Hetty with enthusiasm. "I'm so glad. Agnes
won't touch mutton or lamb. She says they taste so like a sheep. And so
we don't often have it."

"Paul, can you be trusted to pour the hot chocolate?" asked his mother.
"No, Neale, don't get up. I want to see if the children can't do it
all."

* * * * *

From where she sat at the foot of the table, she directed the
operations. The children stepped about, serious, responsible, their rosy
faces translucent in the long, searching, level rays sent up by the sun,
low in The Notch. Dishes clicked lightly, knives and forks jingled, cups
were set back with little clinking noises on saucers. All these indoor
sounds were oddly diminished and unresonant under the open sky, just as
the chatting, laughing flow of the voices, even though it rose at times
to bursts of mirth which the children's shouts made noisy, never drowned
out the sweet, secret talk of the brook to itself.

Marise was aware of all this, richly and happily aware of the
complexities of an impression whose total seemed to her, for the moment,
felicity itself. It pleased her, all, every bit of it, pleased and
amused her; the dear children, Paul worshiping at the shrine of
Eugenia's elegancies, Mark the absurd darling with that grotesque sword
between his legs, Elly devouring her favorite sandwich with impassioned
satisfaction and wondering about the Holy Ghost; Cousin Hetty, ageless,
pungent,