Yes--there is no doubt of it--hasn't been any doubt of it since the judge shouted out the glad tidings which emptied every chair in the club: Across the park, beyond the rickety, vine-covered fence and close beside the Temple Mansion, stands a four-in-hand, the afternoon sun flashing from the silver mountings of the harness and glinting on the polished body and wheels of the coach. Then a crack of the whip, a wind of the horn, and they are off--the leaders stretching the traces, two men on the box, two grooms in the rear. Hurrah! Well, by thunder, who would have believed it--that's Temple inside on the back seat! “There he is waving his hand and Todd is with him. And yes! Why of course it's Rutter! See him clear that curb! Not a man in this county can drive like that but Talbot.” Round they come--the colonel straight as a whip--dusty-brown overcoat, flowers in his buttonhole--bell-crowned hat, brown driving gloves--perfectly appointed, even if he is a trifle pale and half blind. More horn--a long joyous note now, as if they were heralding the peace of the world, the colonel bowing like a grand duke as he passes the assembled crowd--a gathering of the reins together, a sudden pull-up at Seymours', everybody on the front porch--Kate peeping over Harry's shoulder--and last and best of all, St. George's cheery voice ringing out: “Where are you two sweethearts!” Not a weak note anywhere; regular fog-horn of a voice blown to help shipwrecked mariners. “All aboard for Moorlands, you turtle-doves--never mind your clothes, Kate--nor you either, Harry. Your father will send for them later. Up with you.” “All true, Harry,” called back the colonel from the top of the coach (nobody alighted but the grooms--there wasn't time--) “Your mother wouldn't wait another hour and sent me for you, and Teackle said St. George could go, and we bundled him up and brought him along and you are all going to stay a month. No, don't wait a minute, Kate; I want to get home before dark. One of my men will be in with the carryall and bring out your mammy and your clothes and whatever you want. Your father is away I hear, and so nobody will miss you. Get your heavy driving coat, my dear; I brought one of mine in for Harry--it will be cold before we get home. Matthew, your eyes are better than mine, get down and see what the devil is the matter with that horse. No, it's all right--the check-rein bothered him.” And so ended the day that had been so happily begun, and the night was no less joyful with the mother's arms about her beloved boy and Kate on a stool beside her and Talbot and St. George deep in certain vintages--or perhaps certain vintages deep in Talbot and St. George--especially that particular and peculiar old Madeira of 1800, which his friend Mr. Jefferson had sent him from Monticello, and which was never served except to some such distinguished guest as his highly esteemed and well-beloved friend of many years, St. George Wilmot Temple of Kennedy Square.