The other letters met with varied receptions. To all they were a surprise, for Stephen lived well out of town and had been a recluse for so long that nobody was in the habit of taking him much into consideration when it came to affairs social. There could be no question that he was well beloved by every member of his family, and sincerely pitied—when they took time to think about it, which was not often. But, except for brief, infrequent visits at his quiet home, inspired by a sense of duty, few of them felt him in their lives at all. It interfered decidedly with previous plans, but nobody was quite willing to refuse the invitation—certainly not those to whom Mrs. Griggs, with shrewd grasp of various situations, had ventured to indite her supplementary lines. To each of these her appeal on the score of Mr. Stephen’s failing health came as a sting to action and turned the scale. More or less grudgingly, they all wrote that they would come. But not without mental reservations as to courses of procedure when on the spot. George’s family need not be familiar with William’s. Clara and Isabel would avoid each other all that it was possible to do without attracting the notice of a certain pair of mild blue eyes beneath a crown of thick white hair. And Samuel and Sylvester—would Samuel and Sylvester even so much as shake hands? Those who knew them best doubted it. But the children were all glad to go. Family quarrels mattered nothing to then. And in the children lay Stephen’s hope. The house was ready. Dignified, even stately, with its tall pillars and lines of fine proportion, representing the best of the architecture of New England’s early days, Stephen Kingsley’s country home stood awaiting its guests. Far back from the road, its wide front entrance was festooned with hemlock and pine, a stout young tree fastened upon either side. The long-closed blinds of the upper story were all thrown wide; from each square chimney floated a welcoming banner of smoke. Passers-by upon the road that morning, on their way to family reunions of their own, gazed and wondered. It was many a long day since "the old Kingsley place" had worn that hospitable air of habitation.