Buster plopped down on all fours, as if he understood perfectly, and took a bite at my shoe string. I patted his head. I had to. The pup was irresistible. "And what time will you have your dinner?" asked Mrs. Pillig. "There's no meat in the house. Guess you forgot to order the butcher to stop; but there's eggs." "Eggs will do," said I, "and one o'clock. Bert has his at twelve, but I want mine at one. Maybe I shall have a guest." "A guest!" she cried. "You wouldn't be puttin' a guest on me the first mornin'!" "Well, it's doubtful, I'm afraid," I answered. "Perhaps I'll wait till to-morrow night, and have three guests for supper--just Bert and his wife and their boarder--sort of a housewarming, you know. I want you to make a pie." "Well, I reckon I can wait on table stylish enough for Mrs. Temple," said she, "and I'll make a lemon pie that'll make Bert Temple sorry he didn't marry _me_." "I shouldn't want you to wreck Bert's domestic happiness," said I, "but make the pie, just the same!" I went into the south room, and sat at my desk answering some letters, while I waited for dinner. I could hear the rattle of dishes in the kitchen--the first of those humble domestic sounds which we associate with the word home. Through the house, too, and in to me, floated the aroma of bacon and of coffee, faintly, just detectable, mingled with the smell of earth under June rain, which drifted through an open window. Presently I heard the front door open very softly. As I guessed that Peter had his instructions in behaviour from his mother, I knew it must be Miss Goodwin. My pen poised suspended over the paper. I waited for her to enter the room, in a pleasant tingle of expectation. But she did not enter. Several minutes passed, and I got up to investigate, but there was no sign of her. The front door, however, stood ajar. Then Mrs. Pillig called "Dinner!" I walked into my dining-room, and sat down at the table, which was covered with a new tablecloth and adorned with my new china. Beside my plate was the familiar, old-fashioned silver I had eaten with when a boy, and the sight of it thrilled me. Then I spied the centrepiece--a glass vase bearing three fresh iris buds from the brookside. Here was the secret, then, of the open door! Mrs. Pillig came in with the platter of eggs and bacon, and she, too, spied the flowers. [Illustration: "Well, well, you've got yourself a bookay," she said] "Well, well, you've got yourself a bookay," she said. "Not I," was my answer. "They just came. Mrs. Pillig, there's a fairy lives in this house, a nice, thoughtful fairy, who does things like this. If you ever see her, don't be frightened." Mrs. Pillig looked at me pityingly. "I'll bring your toast and coffee now," she said.