The main part of Sunnybank house was capped by a sort of belvidere, accessible by steps from the garret. Why it had been built was one of Ida's childish studies; and the acquisition of other knowledge was no help to the elucidation of this mystery. Emma said the founder of the mansion had an astronomical turn, and used it as an observatory;--Laura, that it was a belfry, from which the alarm-bell was sounded to collect the surrounding settlers, when an incursion was made by the savages; Ida's more matter-of-fact belief was that her ancestor had more fondness than taste for ornamental architecture, and so planned this tuft to the conical crown of his habitation. On the birth-night, this was to be illuminated; the brackets were prepared, and some of the candles in the sockets. Nearer and faster descended the darkness. Aunt Judy fidgeted from the kitchen to the house, and from the house to the kitchen, in mortal fear for the credit of her supper. Miss Betsey prognosticated upsettings and wheel-breakings, and "hoped the horses were sure-footed. That hill, the other side of Tim's Creek was _awful_ of a dark night." "I say, girls!" exclaimed Ida, "we will light the belvidere! They can see it six miles off. Anything but idle waiting!" She was to stand in the yard, and direct the disposition of the lights--Laura, Emma and Will, who thought no whim of his "mistis" absurd, ascended to the roof. The breeze was at rest; and the rays shot forth, clear and straight, down the avenue, magnifying the proportions of the fantastic roof. The others came out to admire the effect with her. "Hist!" said she. "Music!" But there was not a sound. "I heard it--I know!" said she, positively. "Come into the porch." Another note was repeated by the hills. "I said so! they are coming--singing! Isn't that like Charley?" She distinguished voices as they approached;--Carry's soft alto; Mrs. Dana's soprano,--"Arthur--yes! that is his tenor--and Mr. Dana and Charley have the base!" "The tune changes!" said Emma. "Auld Lang Syne--oh! how sweet!" Ida's eyes were streaming,--her heart aching with joy. The carriages--two--and a buggy, drove up to the door; and with a scream of rapture she lifted Carry to the ground,--not knowing who came next--only that they were all there. All! no! where was Charley? She stopped upon the steps; Elle holding to her dress; one hand in Carry's, the other upon her guardian's arm. "Charley! where are you?" "Here!" with a muster-roll intonation. He raised her fingers to his lips--an unprecedented action with him--and holding them still, looked over his shoulder. "Here is a gentleman who is afraid you will shut your doors upon him, for coming without a special invitation." "Mr. Germaine!" thought Ida, fearfully;--but his was not the figure that emerged from the shade,--nor the warm grasp, in which Charley, with a movement full of grace and feeling, placed her hand;--nor his the voice that said--"I do not doubt her hospitality, but my deserts."