"Oh, what have you all done!" exclaimed Queenie, in a stifled voice. Her heart began to beat more quickly, an odd, choking feeling was in her throat. Was this their thought for her? She could not for her life have spoken another word as she followed Garth and Cathy into the parlor. "We have only put a table and some chairs into the front room; it will be handy for Emmie to learn her lessons and play there. Langley knew we must not put you to any unnecessary expense," went on Garth, cheerfully. "This is very snug, is it not?" Snug! Queenie looked round her half dazed. Had she ever seen this room before? Though it was summer, a little fire burnt in the grate. There was a crimson carpet; a grey rug was spread invitingly; a couch stood by the open window. There was a bird-cage, and a stand of flowers. A pretty print hung over the mantel-piece. Some book-shelves with some tempting-looking volumes had been fitted up over the corner cupboard. A gay little pink and white tea-service was on the round table. Some low basket-work chairs gave an air of comfort. Outside the transformation was still more marked. Instead of the green wilderness, all docks and nettles, there was a long green lawn. A broad gravel path bordered the window; a few flower-beds had been cut in the turf. "It is too late to do much this season; we shall have it very pretty next summer," observed Garth, in a cool, matter-of-fact tone, as he followed her to the window. "We have cut away a good deal of the turf, as it made the house so damp; the gravel path is far better. Cathy wants you to have a rockery and some ferns in one corner." "It will look very nice," returned Queenie, absently. She had a misty vision after that of a bright little kitchen that reminded her of a doll-house that she had had as a child, and then of two bed-rooms, one for herself, and one for Emmie, with a small room for Patience, all as fresh as white dimity could make them. There were flowers on the toilet-table; the little painted chest of drawers had a sweet perfume of lavender. Everything was simple and well chosen, and testified to thoughtful and loving hands. "Oh, Cathy, what am I to say to him? what am I to say to you all?" exclaimed poor Queenie, feeling ready to throw her arms round her friend's neck and burst into tears. They were standing in the little entry, and Garth was watching them. "Aren't you going to give me tea after all this?" he interposed, in a droll voice. "Here I have been gardening and carpentering and acting as odd man to the establishment for I do not know how long." "Tea! oh, I forgot," returned Queenie, dashing the tears from her eyes, and hurrying to her place. Garth stood near her a moment as he brought her one of the basket chairs. "Does our work satisfy you? have we given you pleasure?" he asked, looking into her downcast face rather anxiously. "Do you think you will be happy here, you and Emmie, in your own little home?"