re herded back to our
bedroom, hurried into stiff white collars and hustled into shining Sunday
shoes. There was the sound of cold water tinkling in the basin; of
straining bootlaces; and of the creaking of a loose board in the floor
every time Mary Ellen stepped on it. Scarcely a word was spoken. Now that
what we had so long strained towards was at hand we stood breathless before
the immensity of it. The long year and nine months at Mrs. Handsomebody's
fell like a heavy curtain between us and the past. Our father's face had
grown hazy to us. I think The Seraph only pretended to remember. His coming
had been held over our heads so long, as a time of swift retribution, that
a feeling of doubt, almost terror, mingled with our joy.

At last we were ready. With shining faces, burning ears, and quickly
tapping hearts, we went soberly down the stairs. The door of the parlour
stood wide open. Mrs. Handsomebody, herself, was dusting the case of
stuffed birds, whose plumage, sadly thinned by the attentions of
Coppertoes, seemed to quiver with expectancy.

We were instructed to wait inside the iron gate, at the front, until train
time, when we were to be recalled to the parlour, and take our places on
three chairs, already ranged in a row for us. Thus we were to be displayed
by Mrs. Handsomebody, to our sire.

We found Granfa polishing the brass on the front door, his white locks
bobbing as he rubbed.

"Oh, Granfa," we cried, "have you heard the news?"

"Ess fay," he replied, straightening his back, "for thiccy Mary Ellen came
a-galloping at top speed to ask me to shine the brasses for 'ee, knowing I
have a wonderful art that way. The poor Zany was all in a mizmaze."

"Are you glad father's coming?"

"Glad! I be so joyful as a bulfinch in springtime. See how the very face of
Natur' be lit up for the grand occasion."

The sky had, indeed, become deeply blue, and a great pink cloud hung above
the Cathedral like a welcoming banner. There had been frost in the night
forming thin ice over the puddles in the road. All those reflected the
serene pink of the cloud, a blue pigeon picked his way delicately among
them. A sweet-smelling wind swayed the moist brown limbs of the elm trees.
All the world seemed like a great organ attuned to joy.

"Suppose," suggested Angel, "that we just race around to the cobbler's and
tell him the news. The Dragon is too busy to miss us."

The very thing! It would take only a few minutes and would b