n hand,
Rosalind and her new comrade walked to the house. In the exuberance of her
content, she patted one of the griffins as she passed. Her uncle observed
it.

"Have you ever noticed the resemblance between Uncle Allan Barnwell and
the griffins?" he asked.

The idea amused Rosalind greatly, and as she took her seat at the table,
the sight of the haughtily poised head and eagle eyes of the portrait made
her laugh. Things were indeed taking a turn when that stern face caused
amusement.

With Uncle Allan at the foot of the table, luncheon was transformed into a
festive occasion. Masculine tones were almost startling from their
novelty; Rosalind found herself forgetting to eat. Grandmamma was
wonderfully bright, and Aunt Genevieve showed a languid animation most
unusual.

"It was like you, Allan, after putting us off so long, to end by
surprising us," his sister said.

"I trust you intend to stay for a while," his mother added, almost
wistfully.

Genevieve laughed half scornfully, as if she considered this a forlorn
hope.

Allan looked at her a moment before he replied, "I don't know; I shall
probably be here some time." He had more than half promised his friend
Blanchard to join him in a trip over the Canadian Pacific in August. At
present he felt inclined to give it up and remain in Friendship. He would
not commit himself.

He thought it over lazily after lunch, resting in the sleepy-hollow chair
by the east window in the room that had been his ever since he graduated
from the nursery. All about him were devices for comfort and adornment
that spoke of his mother's hand. She knew the sort of thing he liked,--his
handsome, unhappy mother. It was a shame to leave her so much alone; yet
she never complained, but seemed always self-sufficient and independent.

And then Allan began to reflect on the singular fact that he was seldom
quite at ease with his mother, although he admired her, and at one time
had been very much under her influence. If he had ceased to care for his
home, it was her fault for sending him away for so long. "Poor mother!" he
thought. "We have all disappointed her; but she was never quite fair to
any of us. She wanted us to go her way, and, being her children, we
preferred our own."

The sound of Rosalind's voice floated in at the window. He looked out. She
was crossing the lawn, after an interview with Katherine through the
hedge.

"When are we to begin?" he called.

"Whenever you like