"Those are not my usual cookies," stated the latter, meditatively regarding the box as her guest settled himself with a sigh of content. Page smiled. "That’s all right," he answered. "You know they never were." "Now I deny it, Gorham Page," rejoined Miss Berry warmly. "I was never one to make excuses all the time, and you can’t say I was; not truthfully you can’t." "These are exactly right, anyway," returned the other calmly. "There never was a cookie outside this house that tasted as good." "Oh now, that’s silly, Mr. Gorham," returned Miss Berry with a pleased smile. "No, it is sound sense. I feel old, and tired of things very often. If I could only get hold of one of these at such moments, I should be young again in a minute, with an appetite for everything. If you should some day receive a telegram asking for a cookie, you may know that I need to be rejuvenated, and mail me one at once." "Have you forgotten my currant wine?" asked Miss Berry radiantly. "Well, I guess not! But you never let me know where you kept that." His hostess laughed. "No sir, indeed I didn’t. You set where you are, and I’ll fetch it out." She was as good as her word, and in a short time a little table stood at Page’s elbow, and upon it a bottle and two glasses. "I am sure I’m a big boy now," he laughed, as he poured the wine, "since you trust me with this. I well remember the half glasses you used to give me as a treat. How many summers did we come here, Aunt Love?" "Pretty near every year after you was ten years old till you went to college." A little silence fell between them, for it was that summer before Page’s collegiate life began that his mother bade him a last good-by upstairs in this very house, in the low-ceiled chamber where the branches of the oriole elm cast their shadow. "How’s your cousin Jack? I wonder if he remembers Pearfield too," continued Miss Berry. "Indeed he does. He graduated from Harvard this year, and of course I attended the Commencement. He asked for you, and I told him I didn’t know half as much about you as I ought to; so when your business letter reached me last week, I determined to answer it in person, and I hope you will pardon what was unbusinesslike delay, for I could not arrange to come at once." "I feel as though I"—Miss Berry was beginning diffidently, when a small dark whirlwind rattled the tin cake box, jostled the table, and leaped frantically against Miss Lovina’s arm, upsetting some drops of wine upon the clean white apron. "Get out! get down! Your paws are dirty!" she exclaimed, emphasizing her unflattering protests with slaps at the panting, bounding, shaggy terrier, who at last seated himself for an instant on his stump of a tail, before rising to take a minute survey of the visitor’s pantaloons.