"There are the boys and Frances coming down the street, saucy Robin," said her mother. "Take yourselves off, girls, and let me have Cousin Peace all to myself for a while. Wait one moment, Charlotte; Kiku-san is in that chair--he claims it--but I'll lay him on my bed." She raised the white cat like a round mat, just as he lay, and Miss Charlotte seated herself in the vacated rocking-chair where the breeze blew in on her. Kiku-san rose from his coiled position, sat up sleepily for a moment on the foot of the bed, then, stretching and yawning, walked over into Cousin Peace's lap, where he contentedly curled up to continue his nap. They all laughed. "Trust a cat to carry his point!" cried Rob. "That chair is Kiku's, and Kiku will have it, whether Cousin Peace or a down pillow is in it." "We're off for dogwood, Kiku-san," said Prue, laying her cheek on the cat for a farewell. "And we'll bring it home with plenty of bark for bad kittens." Mrs. Grey watched the seven young people out of the gate, and her eyes and lips were smiling. Miss Charlotte said, as if she, too, saw the pretty picture: "They are fine boys, Mary, and there are no girls so sweet and pretty as our Grey ones. Do you ever wonder if a lifelong affection, of a stronger sort, may grow out of this beautiful triple friendship?" "I suppose it would be impossible not to dream of it, Charlotte, but Wythie and Rob are simple girls, and too unconscious to dream of it themselves," said their mother. "I should be glad if it were to be. Yes, I do think of it, and I realize my girls are hovering on the verge of womanhood. They have been too busy, too home-keeping, to cross the line early. Sometimes I think Basil and Bruce, with their half a year advance of Wythie and Rob, are already building a little romance, and I see that Basil finds Wythie just about perfect in all ways, as Bruce evidently considers all other girls mere sawdust beside bright Robin, but it all lies folded in the future, and no one can foresee. It would be a lovely little idyl, and I dare to hope for it; almost to feel sure it will come some day." "I think it will," said Miss Charlotte, quietly, and the two women smiled at each other, full of loving pride in the girls who were to them both dearest of all girls, prettiest, bravest, sweetest. It was high noon, and very warm, when the faint sound of distant singing announced to Mrs. Grey and Miss Charlotte and to Mrs. Winslow, who had by that time arrived, that the seven were returning. The singing grew louder, clearer, and at last developed into nothing more classic than the darky song, "Won't you come home, Bill Bailey?" chosen as appropriate, and rendered with immense expression.