It was far more cheerful work fitting up the new rooms at
Milnthorpe, with Deborah's strong arms to help, and Uncle Geoffrey
standing by to encourage our efforts; even Jack plucked up heart
then, and hung up the canaries, and hid away the dormice out of
Smudge's and Jumbles' reach, and consented to stretch her long legs
in our behalf. Allan and I thought we had done wonders when all was
finished, and even Deborah gave an approving word.

"I think mother and Carrie will be pleased," I said, as I put some
finishing touches to the tea-table on the evening we expected them.
Allan had gone to the station to meet them, and only Uncle Geoffrey
was my auditor. There was a great bowl of roses on the table, great
crimson-hearted, delicious roses, and a basket of nectarines, that
some patient had sent to Uncle Geoffrey. The parlors looked very
pretty and snug; we had arranged our books on the shelves, and had
hung up two or three choice engravings, and there was the gleam of
purple and gold china from the dark oak cabinet, and by the garden
window there were mother's little blue couch and her table and
workbox, and Carrie's davenport, and an inviting easy-chair. The new
curtains looked so well, too. No wonder Uncle Geoffrey declared that
he did not recognize his old room.

"I am sure they will be pleased," I repeated, as I moved the
old-fashioned glass dish full of our delicious Combe Manor honey;
but Uncle Geoffrey did not answer; he was listening to some wheels
in the distance.

"There they are," he said, snatching up his felt wide-awake. "Don't
expect your mother to notice much to-night, Esther; poor thing, this
is a sad coming home to her."