ke of
happiness binding his throat like a scarf too tightly drawn, and a
constriction at his heart as if it were too firmly held in a welcoming
hand.

An excited happiness shook him as the _Mirabelle_ was eased to the
wharfside, and at last, after dangers and adventures beyond his
imagining, Chris not only knew that he was home again, but saw a
familiar black-dressed figure and a plump woman in a monstrous hat,
waiting for him to disembark.

What a day that was! The greetings and handshakings; the enveloping
hug for Chris and Amos from Becky Boozer, her eyes filled with happy
tears and her bonnet trembling with agitation. Her roguish glances and
coy giggles flew out like a flock of doves at the sight of swaggering
Ned Cilley, who came down the gangplank carrying a macaw in a cage for
"Mistress Boozer," and hustled her behind some bales to kiss her
warmly. But most of all and best of the day, that first look from Mr.
Wicker that spoke more than any gesture or carefully chosen words
could have done. He had no need to speak. Chris could see the pride
and pleasure shining in his face, and Mr. Wicker, so solitary all his
life, could see in the boy's eyes an affection his own son might have
shown him.

In due time a well-crated object was carefully hauled by cart to Mr.
Wicker's back door and taken inside. The ship's carpenter had made a
case to measurements given him without knowing what it was to hold,
and when Chris saw it at last set in a corner of Mr. Wicker's
well-remembered study, he knew a lightness of mind he had not had
since first he had been told of the Jewel Tree and his long journey.

There were long hours of talk with Mr. Wicker before the fire,
telling him of every detail. Mr. Wicker's fine dark head nodded from
time to time, interspersing Chris's account with an occasional "Quite
so--you did perfectly right," or, "Indeed? I did not see that too
clearly, and so I was not sure." At last all was told; every tale
unfolded.

Then Mr. Wicker rose, smiling at Chris. "Go have your supper lad, and
come back. I have some other things to say."

The candlelit kitchen, the blazing hearth, the hissing spit on which
wood pigeons roasted; the steaming pots where savory things were
cooking; Amos laughing and chattering and swinging his legs from the
cane-bottomed chair; Becky Boozer alternating between bursts of happy
song and jokes directed at Amos or Ned Cilley, everything seemed
beautiful to Chris and the room the