and rusty hinges, and the favoring wind of opportunity opened it wider
and wider as time went on. All things had worked together amazingly for
good. The memory of old days had been evoked, and the daily life of a
pious and venerated father called to mind; the Sawyer name had been
publicly dignified and praised; Rebecca had comported herself as the
granddaughter of Deacon Israel Sawyer should, and showed conclusively
that she was not "all Randall," as had been supposed. Miranda was
rather mollified by and pleased with the turn of events, although she
did not intend to show it, or give anybody any reason to expect that
this expression of hospitality was to serve for a precedent on any
subsequent occasion.

"Well, I see you did only what you was obliged to do, Rebecca," she
said, "and you worded your invitation as nice as anybody could have
done. I wish your aunt Jane and me wasn't both so worthless with these
colds; but it only shows the good of havin' a clean house, with every
room in order, whether open or shut, and enough victuals cooked so 't
you can't be surprised and belittled by anybody, whatever happens.
There was half a dozen there that might have entertained the Burches as
easy as not, if they hadn't 'a' been too mean or lazy. Why didn't your
missionaries come right along with you?"

"They had to go to the station for their valise and their children."

"Are there children?" groaned Miranda.

"Yes, aunt Miranda, all born under Syrian skies."

"Syrian grandmother!" ejaculated Miranda (and it was not a fact). "How
many?"

"I didn't think to ask; but I will get two rooms ready, and if there
are any over I'll take 'em into my bed," said Rebecca, secretly hoping
that this would be the case. "Now, as you're both half sick, couldn't
you trust me just once to get ready for the company? You can come up
when I call. Will you?"

"I believe I will," sighed Miranda reluctantly. "I'll lay down side o'
Jane in our bedroom and see if I can get strength to cook supper. It's
half past three--don't you let me lay a minute past five. I kep' a good
fire in the kitchen stove. I don't know, I'm sure, why I should have
baked a pot o' beans in the middle of the week, but they'll come in
handy. Father used to say there was nothing that went right to the spot
with returned missionaries like pork 'n' beans 'n' brown bread. Fix up
the two south chambers, Rebecca."

Rebecca, given a free hand for the only time in her life, dashed