rest."

"Indeed you won't," declared Rose, with emphasis. "I've begun it and I'm
going to finish it unless the Seven Weary Workers fail me absolutely."

At last the task was completed, and even Rose could find no speck of
dust in the entire establishment. The house was fresh with the smell of
soap-suds and floor wax and so warm that several windows had to be kept
open. The cablegram had come while the curtains were being made, but
everything was ready two days before the wayfarers could possibly reach
home.

On the appointed day, Rose and Isabel were almost as excited as Madame
Bernard herself. She had chosen to go over alone to greet the Colonel
and his son. They were expected to arrive about four in the afternoon.

At three, Madame set forth in her carriage. She wore her best gown, of
lavender crepe, trimmed with real lace, and a bunch of heliotrope at her
belt. Rose had twined a few sprays of heliotrope into her snowy hair and
a large amethyst cross hung from her neck by a slender silver chain. She
wore no other jewels except her wedding ring.

Fires blazed cheerily in every fireplace on the lower floor, and there
was another in the sitting-room upstairs. She had filled the house with
the flowers of Spring--violets, daffodils, and lilies of the valley. A
silver tea-kettle with a lamp under it waited on the library table.

When she heard the wheels creaking in the snowy road, Madame lighted the
lamp under the kettle with her own hands, then opened the door wide.
Followed by their baggage, the two men came up the walk--father and son.