While the white frocks were being put on, Mrs. Rowantree lent a hand with deftness and gayety. She delighted in Carin’s golden hair and in Aunt Zillah’s beautiful silver curls. She said Azalea was like a rose, and that Constance had done nothing but talk of her since the day on the train. “The children,” said Mrs. Rowantree, “are in the nursery waiting impatiently to see you.” It appeared that every bare room in the great unfinished house had its name. When they all rustled down in their white gowns, Mr. Rowantree greeted them magnificently at the foot of the stairs. “Have the children brought, my dear,” he said to his wife. “They naturally are eager to be released.” From his tone one would have expected the children to enter accompanied by at least a governess and a nurse, but it was the little proud mother herself who brought in Gerald—“my eldest son, Miss Pace,”—and Moira and Michael—“my darling twins, young ladies,”—and led by the hand that wise young person, Constance, who flew like a bird to Azalea’s arms. “She’s like myself,” said Mrs. Rowantree, “fierce in her affections.” Azalea laughed. “Oh, so am I,” she said. “Mr. McBirney, my adopted father, always tells me that. He wants me to be calm, but I can’t stay calm.” Mary Cecily Rowantree gave a rippling laugh. “Why be calm,” she asked, “when you can be having a fine excitement about something or other?” “It’s the Irish blood in her,” explained Mr. Rowantree benevolently, “that makes my wife like that. I am not so easily amused myself. A quiet life, that’s what suits me best. I ask nothing better than to sit on my gallery and look at my peaceful trees. My dear, dinner will be served ere long, I take it?” Again it seemed as if there must be a cook and cook’s assistants, scullions and servitors not far off. But again it was little Mrs. Rowantree who dashed to fill orders. Miss Zillah was persuaded to join Mr. Rowantree on the gallery, but Carin and Azalea insisted on going into the kitchen to help, for by this time they were quite aware of the condition of things. It was quite evident that Mr. Rowantree had an imagination, and not only saw some things which did not exist, but contrived not to see the unpleasant ones that did. However, as the four handsome children persisted in tagging their mother into the kitchen, Mrs. Rowantree said to Carin: “If you’re really wanting to help—and I can see your heart’s in it—would you mind telling a story to the young ones off somewhere? They’re always under my feet, and while goodness knows I love to have them hanging about me, they are a hindrance to the getting of the dinner.” “Story?” cried Carin. “I know twenty. Come, children!” And she vanished, followed not only by the four young Rowantrees, but by Keefe O’Connor as well. So it was Azalea who had the next hour with the hostess. “I thought we’d eat on the gallery,” said Mrs. Rowantree. “It gives us a fine outlook over the estate.”