"Why shouldn't she go?" asked Lynn. "Aunt Peace could go anywhere and come back safely. Everybody she met would fall in love with her, and see that she was comfortable." "Quite right!" said the Doctor, with evident sincerity. "Flatterers!" she laughed. "Fie upon you!" But there was a note of happy youthfulness in the voice, and they knew that she was pleased. "If you go, madam," the Doctor continued, "it will be my pleasure to give you letters to friends of mine in Germany." "Thank you," she returned, with a stately inclination of her head. "It would be very kind." "And," he went on, "I have many books which would be of service to you. Shall I bring some of them, the next time I come?" "I would not trouble you, Doctor, but sometime, if you happened to be passing." "Yes," he answered, "when I happen to be passing. I shall not forget." "They might be interesting, if not of actual service. I am familiar with much that has been written of foreign lands. We have _Marco Polo's Adventures_ in our library." The Doctor coughed into his handkerchief. "The world has changed, dear madam, since Marco Polo travelled." "Yes," she sighed, "it is always changing, and we older ones are left far behind." "Oh, nonsense!" exclaimed Lynn. "I'll tell you what, Aunt Peace, you're well up at the head of the procession. You're no farther behind than the drum-major is." "The drum-major, my dear? I do not understand. Is he a military gentleman?" "He's the boss of the whole shooting match," explained Lynn, inelegantly. "He wears a bear-skin bonnet and tickles the music out of the band. If it weren't for him, the whole show would go up in smoke." "Lynn!" said Margaret, reprovingly. "What language! Aunt Peace cannot understand you!" "I'll bet on Aunt Peace," remarked Lynn, sagely. "I fear I am not quite abreast of the times," said the old lady. "Do you think, Doctor, that the world grows better, or worse?" "Better, madam, steadily better. I can see it every day." "It is well for one to think so," observed Margaret, "whatever the facts may be." Midsummer and moonlight made enchantment in the garden. Merlin himself could have done no more. The house, half hidden in the shadow, stood waiting, as it had done for two centuries, while those who belonged under its roof made holiday outside. Most of them had gone forever, and only their portraits were left, but, replete with memories both happy and sad, the house could not be said to be alone. The tall pine threw its gloom far beyond them, and the moonlight touched Aunt Peace caressingly. Her silvered hair gleamed with unearthly beauty and her serene eyes gave sweet significance to her name. All those she cared for were about her--daughter and friends. "Nights like this," said the Doctor, dreamily, "make one think of the old fairy tales. Elves and witches are not impossible, when the moon shines like this."