ruffled shirt-fronts, and the younger ones lifted their
furry hats and kept them in the air until she had crossed the gang-plank
and Todd and Mammy Henny, and Ben who had come to help, lost their
several breaths getting the impatient dogs and baggage aboard--and so
she sailed away with Uncle George as chaperon, the whole party throwing
kisses back and forth.

CHAPTER XX

Their reception at Wesley, the ancestral home of the Costons, although
it was late at night when they arrived, was none the less joyous. Peggy
was the first to welcome the invalid, and Tom was not far behind.

"Give her to me, St. George," bubbled Peggy, enfolding the girl in her
arms. "You blessed thing! Oh, how glad I am to get hold of you! They
told me you were ill, child--not a word of truth in it! No, Mr. Coston,
you sha'n't even have one of her little fingers until I get through
loving her. What's your mammy's name--Henny? Well, Henny, you take Miss
Kate's things into her room--that one at the top of the stairs."

And then the Honorable Tom Coston said he'd be doggoned if he was going
to wait another minute, and he didn't--for Kate kissed him on both
cheeks and gave him her father's message, congratulating him on his
appointment as judge, and thanking him in advance for all the kindness
he would show his daughter.

But it was not until she awoke next morning and looked out between
the posts of her high bedstead through the small, wide-open window
overlooking the bay that her heart gave the first bound of real
gladness. She loved the sky and the dash of salt air, laden now with the
perfume of budding fruit trees, that blew straight in from the sea.
She loved, too, the stir and sough of the creaking pines and the cheery
calls from the barnyard. Here she could get her mind settled; here,
too, she could forget all the little things that had bothered her--there
would be no more invitations to accept or decline; no promises she must
keep. She and her Uncle George could have one long holiday--she needed
it and, goodness knows, he needed it after all his troubles--and they
would begin as soon as breakfast was over. And they did--the dogs
plunging ahead, the two hand in hand, St. George, guide and philosopher,
pointing out this and that characteristic feature of the once famous
estate and dilating on its past glory.

"Even in my father's day," he continued, his face lighting up, "it was
one of the great show places of the county. The stabl