Mrs. Kennedy stood at the door looking out. Her face was very sad. From this spot her father had gone forth to captivity and death; all this fair homestead had been his, and he had hoped to live here to a good old age. Agnes linked her arm within her mother’s. “How do you like it, mother dear? Is it not a pleasant spot? It is home for the rest of our lives.” “For the rest of my life and for yours, too, perhaps. Does your father seem satisfied? I have not seen him for the past hour; I have been so busy setting things to rights.” “He is with the boys and they are exploring every corner. Father understands that this is home; in some way he connected it with East Pennsborough and asks such funny questions: Who cut down the butternut tree by the spring? and what has become of old Whitey? He is a little bewildered yet, but he will be very content, I am sure.” Her mother sighed. “He seems like a son rather than a husband. I miss him, oh, I miss him as he was. Those old endearing words, those little speeches of appreciation that a woman loves, never come to his lips now. He was always such a loving husband.” “But he loves you now.” “As a child would. He likes to sit by my side, to have me minister to him, to have me tell him what to do, to unravel the puzzles that confront him so often, but that is all.” Agnes understood. What her mother said was quite true. “But, mother, listen,” she said cheerfully, “now Dr. Flint can come; you know he said it would be best to wait till we could be where father could have more quiet, and now we shall not have dear old noisy Polly, nor Jimmy, nor the bairns. I will tell you how we will manage: Margret can help me, and Jessie can look after Fergus, he is old enough now to know he must not make a noise if he is told to keep still, and the boys can do the outdoor work. I can do what needs to be done indoors, and that will leave you to nurse father.” Her mother gave a little convulsive shudder. “I know,” Agnes went on, “I feel so too; but Dr. Flint says he can assure us that the chances are very good, and oh, if it should be all right, the joy of it!” “Ay, the joy of it! That is what will bear us up. I hope we can have confidence in Dr. Flint; he is looked on suspiciously by some of the neighbors.” “Yes, that is true, but I do not think for any good reason. There come father and the boys.” “Bid them come in to supper.”