rls (for Rose was a girl still, if she was a married woman!)
held each other close for a little, without a word; the words did not
come, nor was there need of them; each knew the other's heart was full
of love that had had steady life and growth for five years. "My dear!"
they said; and then again, "My dear!" and that was all.

But a few minutes later, when all four were seated in a circle, the
girls hand in hand, the old people looking from one to the other with
eyes of delight, the words came fast enough.

Rose had to tell of her summer abroad, of all the new worlds that had
opened before the country-bred girl,--worlds of which she had dreamed
all her life, which she had never thought to see with her bodily eyes.
Then Hildegarde must tell of her summer, all the wonders of the camp,
the new friends, grown so dear in so short a time; of Hugh and the
Colonel, and all the delights of Braeside and Roseholme; and then both
girls must hear all about affairs at Hartley's Glen, from the greatest
to the least.

"Oh, Nurse Lucy, is the old yellow hen still alive--Mrs. Whittaker, I
mean? Surely you know the hen we always called Mrs. Whittaker. She used
to tell us her name whenever she laid an egg. And the cats! How are the
dear cats? Do you think Camaralzaman remembers me, Nurse Lucy? And do
you try to say his whole name once in a while, so that he will not
forget it? And how are all the people in the village? How is Miss Bean?
Does she still trim hats?-- Oh, Rose, do you remember the funny hats?
There was a green satin one, the first time I went there--my dear! she
wanted me to buy it! But she was so good, and kind, and nice! Everybody
in the village is nice!"

"Hilda, do you remember when Bubble sprained his ankle, and the letter
he wrote you? Oh, such a funny letter, wasn't it?"

"Remember it? I have it in one of my most precious portfolios! But, oh,
Nurse Lucy, you haven't told us a word about the cows. Dear cows! How
are they all?"

And so on, and so on, happy, foolish talk, with laughter breaking
through it at every moment, as one recollection brought up another. And
in the midst of it all, who is this tall youth who comes silently into
the hall, and stands silent in the doorway, gazing at all the merry
talkers? No one sees him; he stands and looks from one to the other,
with shining eyes. A slight, trim figure, well-dressed, alert, quickness
and energy in every line of it; a face not handsome, certainly, but so
full