The little cottage fire burned brightly; the hearth was swept clean; the tea kettle was singing over the blaze; the tiny tea table, with its two cups and saucers and two plates and knives was set: everything was neat, comfortable and cheerful for Traverse's return. Marah sat in her little low chair, putting the finishing touches to a set of fine shirts. She was not anxiously looking for her son, for he had told her that he should stay at the doctor's until six o'clock; therefore she did not expect him until seven. But so fast had Traverse walked that just as the minute hand pointed to half-past six the latch was raised and Traverse ran in--his face flushed with joy. The first thing he did was to run to his mother, fling his arms around her neck and kiss her. Then he threw himself into his chair to take breath. "Now, then, what's the matter, Traverse? You look as if somebody had left you a fortune!" "And so they have, or, as good as done so!" exclaimed Traverse, panting for breath. "What in the world do you mean?" exclaimed Marah, her thoughts naturally flying to Old Hurricane, and suggesting his possible repentance or relenting. "Read that, mother! read that!" said Traverse, eagerly putting a note into her hand. She opened it and read: Willow Heights--Monday. Dear Madam--My little daughter Clara, fourteen years of age, has just returned from boarding-school to pursue her studies at home. Among other things, she must learn domestic affairs, of which she knows nothing. If you will accept the position of housekeeper and matronly companion of my daughter, I will make the terms such as shall reconcile you to the change. We shall also do all that we can to make you happy. Traverse will explain to you the details. Take time to think of it, but if possible let us have your answer by Traverse when he comes to-morrow. If you accede to this proposition you will give my daughter and myself sincere satisfaction. Yours truly, WILLIAM DAY. Marah finished reading, and raised her eyes, full of amazement, to the face of her son. "Mother!" said Traverse, speaking fast and eagerly, "they say they really cannot do without you! They have troops of servants; but the old cook is in her dotage and does all sorts of strange things, such as frying buckwheat cakes in lamp oil and the like!" "Oh, hush! what exaggeration!" "Well, I don't say she does that exactly, but she isn't equal to her situation without a housekeeper to look after her, and they want you very much, indeed!" "And what is to become of your home, if I break up?" suggested the mother. "Oh, that is the very best of it! The doctor says if you consent to come that I must also live there, and that then he can have his medical assistant always at hand, which will be very convenient!" Marah smiled dubiously.