On the Saturday before Thanksgiving I rejoined my workmen, finding the house in a worse state of disarray than when I had last seen it. The floors were littered with dust and shavings, and in the dining-room my father, deeply discouraged, was gloomily cooking his breakfast on an oil stove set in the middle of the floor. "It'll take another month to finish the job," he said. "Oh, no it won't," I replied. "It won't take a week." Fortunately the stain on the floor was dry and with the aid of two good men I finished the woodwork and beat the rugs. In a couple of days the lower house was livable. On Wednesday at five o'clock I went to the train, leaving the electric lights all ablaze and the fire snapping in the chimney. It looked amazingly comfortable, restored, settled, and I was confident the children would respond to its cheer. "Is it all made new?" they asked wistfully. "Wait and see!" I confidently replied. The night was cold and dark but as they neared the old house its windows winked a cheery welcome. "Why, it looks just as it used to!" exclaimed Mary Isabel. "There are lights in our room!" exclaimed Constance. "Run ahead, and knock," I urged. She hung back. "I'm afraid," she said. "So am I," echoed Connie. The new metal roof gleaming like frost interested them as they entered the gate. "Why, the porch is all here!" shouted Constance. "But the screens are off," commented Mary Isabel. "Knock!" I commanded. Reaching up to the shining old brass knocker she banged it sharply. The house awoke! White-haired old father came to the door and, first of all, the children sprang to his arms. Then as they looked around they shouted with joy. "Why, it's just as it was--only nicer," was their verdict. While Zulime looked keenly and smilingly around, Connie ran from settee to bookcase. "Everything is here--our books, the fireplace." "Isn't it wonderful!" Mary Isabel exclaimed. After greeting father Zulime surveyed the result of my six weeks' toil with critical but approving eyes. "I like it. It's much better than I expected. It _is_ wonderful. But we must have new curtains for the windows," she added, with the housewife's attention to details. The children danced through the brilliantly lighted rooms, but declined to go into the dining-room or to open the door to the kitchen which they remembered only as a mass of black embers and steaming ashes. I did not urge them to do so. On the contrary, I gathered them round me on the restored hearth and talked of the Thanksgiving dinner of the morrow. As the hour for bedtime came Connie's eyes grew big and dark, and every small unusual sound startled her. Daddy's presence at last reassured them both and they went to sleep and, with only one or two restless intervals, slumbered till daylight.