wn little hands had added
interest.

She was yet in the cookhouse when the guests arrived, and doffing the
huge apron in which she was enveloped, skurried into the house,
carrying with her the fragrance of cinnamon and sweet spices, while a
dust of flower on curls and chin gave her a novel appearance, and the
confession that she had been cooking was not received with the
acclamation she had expected, though there was considerable laughter
about it. No one appeared to take the statement seriously except
Matthew Loring, who took it seriously enough to warn Margeret he would
expect her to supervise all dishes _he_ was to partake of. His meals
were affairs not to be trifled with.

Margeret and Ben had accompanied the party. Others of the more
reliable house servants of Loringwood, were to commence at once work
at the Pines, and Gertrude was almost enthusiastic over the change.

"You folks really _live_ over here," she declared to Mrs. McVeigh,
"while at Loringwood--well, they tell me life used to be very gay
there--but I can't remember the time. It seems to me that since the
day they carried papa in from his last hunting field the place has
been under a cloud. Nothing prospers there, nobody laughs or sings; I
can't be fond of it, and I am so glad to get away from it again."

"Still, it is a magnificent estate," said Mrs. McVeigh, thoughtfully;
"the associations of the past--the history of your family--is so
intimately connected with it, I should think you would be sorry to
part with it."

"I should not!" said Gertrude, promptly, "the money just now would do
me a great deal more good than family records of extravagance which
all the Lorings but Uncle Matthew seem to have been addicted to; and
he is the exact opposite, you know."

Mrs. McVeigh did know. She remembered hearing of him as a one-time
gamester long ago in New Orleans, a man without the conviviality of
his father or his brother Tom; a man who spent money in dissipations
purely selfish, carrying the spirit of a speculator even into his
pursuit of social enjoyment. Then, all at once, he came back to
Loringwood, settled down and became a model in deportment and
plantation management, so close a calculator of dimes as well as
dollars that it was difficult to believe he ever had squandered a
penny, and a great many people refused to credit those ancient Orleans
stories at all. Kenneth's father was one of them.

"I don't believe I am very much of a Loring, anywa