As they came toward the rear of the house they saw Martha leave the kitchen, which was a separate building, and enter the back door of Mrs. Harcourt’s room, bearing a well laden dinner tray in her hands. “Does my mother always take her meals alone?” Harcourt inquired, as they entered the rear door of the hall. “Yes, always; not only from necessity, but from choice. She is too feeble to sit up at the table, and too disinclined to motion to walk to the dining-room.” As Margaret spoke the front door opposite to them opened, and Mr. Wynthrop and his eldest son, Silas, entered the hall. Mr. Wynthrop was a tall, gaunt, dark man, with black hair, cut rather short, and black goatee, both well streaked with silver. His son was also tall and thin, but fair, like his mother and sisters. Both men were clothed in rough, serviceable suits of brown cheviot. On seeing Margaret, and recognizing the visitor who was with her as Harcourt, both men came up with outstretched hands and hearty words of welcome. “Glad to see you,” spoke both in a breath. “When did you arrive?” inquired the elder. “At the Lodge here only this morning,” answered Harcourt. “Dinner ready, Margaret?” inquired the younger. “I suppose so, Si. I have just come from the office.” As she spoke the door of the sitting-room opened, and Mrs. Wynthrop, who had heard the talk, came out with her daughter Elizabeth, and said: “Yes, dinner is ready; we are only waiting for you.” They entered the dining-room, which was just in the rear of the sitting-room, and gathered around the table. Mr. Wynthrop, a churchman of the old Puritanical type, asked a blessing on the feast in a rather long prayer, but when that was over he fell to, helping his guest, his family and himself with more liberality than discretion, and then gave himself up to the enjoyment of creature comforts with more than ordinary zeal. But the meal was not prolonged. Twenty minutes finished it for everybody. When they left the table Martha came up and said to Harcourt: “Young marse, de ole madam is axin’ fo’ yo’ ag’in. She seems moughty queer, she do.” Harcourt immediately followed the woman to his mother’s room. She was sitting in the same chair, knitting, as before. “Sit down, Will, my dear. Your father has just gone out. He says that I must cheer up, for I shall soon be well—well enough to leave this room; and Will, he says that he has got a beautiful new home for me, where I shall be sure to grow strong and hearty, and renew my youth. Just think of that, Will!” said the poor lady, with her face beaming. “I am glad to hear that, mother. Did he tell you where it was?”