They sat there, it may have been for a few hundred years, or half an hour or so, and then by a common consent rose. Whether they walked back to Wroxton or not they scarcely knew; it may have been that the surface of the earth was fitted for them on a circular tape, which slid away beneath their feet, and stopped revolving only when they reached the garden door at Bolton Street. There certainly it stopped, for Jack said: “We will tell them, will we not, Jeannie?” “Aunt Em knows,” she said. “She guessed, or I told her, I don’t know which, the evening after we sat in the garden. But we will tell Arthur.” “And baby?” suggested Jack. Jeannie’s face suddenly grew grave. “Oh, what a little pig I am!” she said. “How is baby? I had forgotten.” “As fat as--as a baby,” said Jack, at loss for a simile. Aunt Em was in the garden, with a pair of thick gloves on and a spade in her hand. She called it gardening, and was alone in this opinion. She was standing with her back to them as they entered, and seemed to be employed in spearing the young and tender chrysanthemums. She was so absorbed in her destructive pursuit that she did not hear their steps till they were close to her, and she looked up with a snap. “You, Jeannie,” she said, at length, “and you, Jack.” Once again, as in her midnight talk with her niece, her face grew young and her eyes dim. “Thank God!” she said, and dropping her spade she gave a gardening-gloved hand to each. A sound of abundance of broken glass came from the far end of the garden, and down the path shortly afterward came Arthur. “If you don’t look where you go,” he explained, “you’ll go into the cucumber-frames. Aunt Em, I sha’n’t garden any more. How many chrysanthemums have you killed?” He looked plaintively at Aunt Em, then curiously at the two others. Suddenly he burst out laughing, and threw his hat in the air. It stuck in the mulberry-tree. “Hurrah!” he cried. “Jack, old chap, how splendid! What lucky people you both are!” “And what will Cousin Robert say?” asked Aunt Em. “He will think he was right all along.” “He is at liberty to think precisely what he pleases,” said Jeannie, withdrawing her arm from Jack’s. “Oh, Jack, you don’t know about that; you can be told now. I must go and see the baby. And it is lunch time.” Jack followed her with his eyes into the house, and turning to Arthur gave him a great hit in the chest, after the manner of a happy young man. “You blazing fool!” he said, and Arthur understood, and smote him back.