ven me. Love has surrounded me from the moment of my marriage until
now. I feel young to-night, and I am going to be happy, very happy. The
children must look their best too. Run up, darling, to the nursery and
see that Susan is doing them justice--they are pretty children every
one of them, worthy of your father. Now, let me see, would not a few
roses improve this table? That great jug of sweet peas in the middle is
just what he likes, but we might have roses and mignonette as well. I'll
go and gather a bunch of those Banksia roses which grow in front of the
house."

"You'll tire yourself, mother. Let me go."

"No; I never felt stronger than I do to-night. I'd like to pick them
myself."

Mrs. Staunton went out of doors. She cut great sprays from the Banksia
rose and brought them back with her. She placed them in a brown jug, and
stood the jug on the table. Then she opened both windows wide, and left
the door ajar. There was the sweetest smell wafted through the room--the
sweet peas, roses, mignonette, seemed to be floating in the air.

The children all came down dressed in their Sunday frocks. They looked
puzzled, uncomfortable, awed. One and all asked the same question:

"Is it a party, mother? Are any visitors coming to tea?"

"No. No!" replied the mother to each in his or her turn. "It is only
your father who has come home, and it is right that we should give him a
welcome."

When she had answered the last of the children, Dr. Staunton entered the
room.

He started at the pretty sight which met his eyes. The room and the
temptingly laid out supper table--the children in their best
dresses--the old wife in her gray silk--looked to him the most beautiful
sight his eyes had ever rested on.

What was all this festival about?--he drew himself up hastily--a sort
of shudder went through him. In spite of his efforts his voice was
terribly husky.

"Are we going to have company?" he asked, with a twinkle in his eyes.
All the other eyes looked back at him--he knew perfectly well even
before the children burst out with the news, that he himself was the
company.

"You have come back, father, and mother says we are to look our very
best," exclaimed little Phil.

"All right, Phil, I am more than agreeable," replied the doctor. "Now
you must excuse me, good folk. I am bound in duty to do honor to all
this company splendor, by washing my hands and putting on my
Sunday-go-to-meeting coat."

"Effie, you may fetch the