When the doorbell rang Pete admitted the
ladies with a promptness that was suggestive
of surreptitious watching at some window. On
Pete's face the dignity of his high office and the
delight of the moment were fighting for mastery.
The dignity held firmly through Mrs. Stetson's
friendly greeting; but it fled in defeat when Billy
Neilson stepped over the threshold with a cheery
``Good morning, Pete.''

``Laws! But it's good to be seein' you here
again,'' stammered the man,--delight now in
sole possession.

``She'll be coming to stay, one of these days,
Pete,'' smiled the eldest Henshaw, hurrying forward.

``I wish she had now,'' whispered Bertram, who,
in spite of William's quick stride, had reached
Billy's side first.

From the stairway came the patter of a man's
slippered feet.

``The rug has come, and the curtains, too,''
called a ``householder'' sort of voice that few
would have recognized as belonging to Cyril
Henshaw. ``You must all come up-stairs and
see them after dinner.'' The voice, apparently,