Hester was an old woman now of nearly seventy, but her form was square and straight as ever, and life was very strong within her yet. With Aleck, whom time had touched less lightly, she still reigned supreme at Millbank. Ruey was long since married and gone, and six children played around her door. Rosy-cheeked Bessie, who had taken Ruey’s place, was lying out in the graveyard not far from Squire Irving’s monument, and Ruth now did her work, and came at Hester’s call, after the telegram was read. The house was always kept in order, but this summer it had undergone a thorough renovation in honor of Roger’s expected arrival, and so it was only needful that the rooms should be opened and aired, and fresh linen put upon the beds, and water carried to the chambers, for Frank was to accompany Roger. When all was done, the house looked very neat and cool and inviting, and to Roger, who had not seen it for eight years, it seemed, with its pleasant grounds and the scent of new-mown hay upon the lawn, like a second Eden, as he rode up the avenue to the door, where his old servants welcomed him so warmly. Hester, who was not given to tears, cried with joy and pride as she led her boy into the house, and looked into his face and told him he had not grown old a bit, and that she thought him greatly improved, except for that hair about his mouth. “She’d cut that off, the very first thing she did, for how under the sun and moon was he ever going to _eat_?” And Roger laughed good-humoredly, and told her his mustache was his pet, and wound his arm around her and kissed her affectionately, and said she was handsomer than any woman he’d seen since he left home. “In the Lord’s name, what kind of company must the boy have kept?” old Hester retorted, feeling flattered nevertheless, and thinking her boy the handsomest and best she had ever seen.