The little grey house modestly announced to all the world that its winter, too, was over and gone. Newly painted in its own soft grey, the lawn with which its daughters had once vainly struggled, smooth shaven by skilful hands, flowers, once beyond its reach in the strict economy of its finances, now flaming gayly against its low walls, all spoke of the prosperity with which its last son had endowed it. No great changes had been made in the beloved little home--too well beloved as it was to admit of them--but it had been made beautiful on its own simple lines, and the girls could hardly help feeling it knew and was glad of its physical well-being. And these girls, too, showed the bettering of their lives in many subtle small ways. Wythie's fresh prettiness was blooming in the brightness it was intended to wear, Rob's variable face was losing its strained look, and Prue's beauty was unspoiled by the discontented expression it had too often worn. Pretty, fresh white gowns, with their black ribbons fluttered by the May wind, were reminders of a loss which was fast growing to be rather a tender memory than a poignant regret. For sorrow of the higher sort brings with it heights of thought and consolations with which to bear it, but the daily struggle to live, the petty cares and vain effort to make too little suffice, eats out heart and brain, with no uplifting to render it endurable. From their cradle the Grey girls had fought this fight, and won in it nobly, but now that it was over, and an income which to them was abundant was assured them, they drew a long breath, casting off sordid frets forever, and began to expand as nature had meant them to, into light-hearted young creatures, full of their own May-time. Seeing them happier, and relieved herself of her hard burden, Mrs. Grey, too, was learning to bear her loss, and give herself up to her hard-earned rest and to her girls' petting, with her anxious mental strain relaxed. It was a day of peace, and, to complete it, "Cousin Peace" was coming to spend it with them. For the first time in years the little grey house was awaiting guests. The Baldwins, all three, were coming from New York to see the house and its inmates which they had been so fortunate in befriending, and Rob burned to make the occasion some approximate expression of her gratitude, and some return for their hospitality to her. She and Oswyth and Prue were waiting for Battalion B and Frances to go to the woods after dogwood with which to turn the little grey house into a bower, and as they waited on the step Miss Charlotte came. "Come in, dear Cousin Peace," cried Wythie, kissing her lovingly as soon as Rob gave her a chance. "Mardy is upstairs resting and writing letters. I wonder how long it will take us to get used to the luxury--the unspeakable delight--of seeing Mardy rest, and knowing that Lydia is in the kitchen doing the work!"