with a breakfast tray. Presently she carried it away, and Cherry,
with a deep sigh from the fullness of her content, turned on her
side and drowsed again.

Waking, after a while, she locked her hands under her head, and
lay listening happily to the old and familiar sounds of home. She
heard Hong bargaining in his own minor chatter with a fruit
vendor, and Alix and her father chuckling over some small
confidence in the porch. She heard the subdued clink of dishes,
the squawk of a surprised chicken, and the girls' murmuring
voices.

It was Saturday, Cherry remembered, when Peter's voice suddenly
sounded above the others and was hastily hushed for her sake;
Peter was always there at three o'clock on Saturdays. There was
another voice, too, pleasant and crisp and even a trifle
fastidious; that must be Justin.

Late in the afternoon, rested, fresh, and her old sweet self in
the white ruffles, she came down to join them. They had settled
themselves under the redwoods, Anne and Justin, Peter and Alix and
Buck, the dog, all jumped up to greet her. Cherry very quietly
subsided into a wicker chair, listened rather than talked, moved
her lovely eyes affectionately from one to another.

Peter hardly moved his eyes from her, although he did not often
address her directly; Justin was quite obviously overcome by the
unexpected beauty of Anne's cousin; Anne herself, with an
undefined pang, admitted in her soul that Cherry was prettier than
ever; and even Alix was affected. With the lovely background of