s invariably in the nature of a
triumphal entry. He was received with lively acclaim and cordiality as
he flitted impartially from group to group, and that person was
difficult indeed with whom he could not find something in common, for
his range of subjects extended from the "rose pattern" in Irish crochet
to Arctic currents.

The morning on the veranda promised to be a lively one, since, in
addition to the departure of old Mr. Penrose, who had sounded as if he
was wrecking the furniture while packing his boxes, the return from the
war of Will Smith, the gardener's son, was anticipated, and the guests
as an act of patriotism meant to give him a rousing welcome. There was
bunting over the doorway and around the pillars, with red, white, and
blue ice cream for luncheon, and flags on the menu, not to mention a
purse of $17.23 collected among the guests that was to be presented in
appreciation of the valour which, it was understood from letters to his
father, Will had shown on the field of battle.

The guests were in their usual places when Wallie came from breakfast
and stood for a moment in the spacious double doorway. A cheerful chorus
welcomed him as soon as he was discovered, and Mrs. C. D. Budlong put
out her plump hand and held his. He did not speak instantly, for his eye
was roving over the veranda as if in search of somebody, and when it
rested upon Miss Spenceley sitting alone at the far end he seemed
satisfied and inquired solicitously of Mrs. Budlong: "Did you sleep
well? You are looking splendid!"

There were some points of resemblance between Mrs. Budlong and the
oleander in the green tub beside which she was sitting. Her round, fat
face had the pink of the blossoms and she was nearly as motionless as if
she had been potted. She often sat for hours with nothing save her
black, sloe-like eyes that saw everything, to show that she was not in a
state of suspended animation. Her husband called her "Honey-dumplin',"
and they were a most affectionate and congenial couple, although she was
as silent as he was voluble.

"My rest was broken." Mrs. Budlong turned her eyes significantly toward
the far end of the veranda.

"Did you hear that terrible racket?" demanded Mr. Budlong of Wallie.

"Not so loud, 'C. D.,'" admonished Mrs. Budlong. Mrs. Budlong ran the
letters together so that strangers often had the impression she was
calling her husband "Seedy," though the name was as unsuitable as well
could be, since M