“Oh, if only I had the new wing,” sighed Mary. “This will be even quieter for him, Mrs. Byrd, and the chair can be wheeled so quickly to the house,” replied Mr. Jensen. The back window of Mary's sitting room had been enlarged to glass doors, and from these a concrete path ran to the studio entrance. Mary planned to make it a covered way after the summer. The day the wheeled chair arrived it was hard for her to keep back the tears. It was a beautifully made thing of springs, cushions, and rubber tires. It could be pushed, or hand-propelled by the occupant. It could be lowered, heightened, or tilted. It was all that a chair could be--but how to picture Stefan in it, he of the lithe steps and quick, agile movements, the sudden turns, and the swift, almost running walk? Her heart trembled with pity at the thought. They had already received an “all well” cable from Paris, and three weeks after he had sailed, James telegraphed that they were starting. He had waited for the American line--he would have been gone a month. As the day of landing approached, Mary became intensely nervous. She decided not to meet the boat, and sent James a wireless to that effect. She could not see Stefan first among all those crowds; her instinct told her that he, too, would not wish it. The ship docked on Saturday. The day before, the last touches had been put to Stefan's quarters. They were as perfect as care and taste could make them. Early on Saturday morning Mr. Jensen started for the city, carrying a big bunch of roses--Mary's welcome to her husband. While the Sparrow flew about the house gilding the lily of cleanliness, Mary, with Elliston at her skirts, picked the flowers destined for Stefan's room. These she arranged in every available vase--the studio sang with them. Every now and then she would think of some trifle to beautify it further--a drawing from her sitting room--her oldest pewter plate for another ashtray--a pine pillow from her bedroom. Elliston's fat legs became so tired with ceaselessly trotting back and forth behind her that he began to cry with fatigue, and was put to bed for his nap. Rosamond waked, demanding dinner and amusement. The endless morning began to pass, and all this while Mary had not thought! At lunch time James telephoned. They would be out by three o'clock. Stefan had stood the journey well, was delighted with the roses, and to see Jensen. He was wonderfully brave and cheerful. Mary was trembling as she hung up the receiver. He was here, he was on the way; and still, she had not thought! Both children asleep, the last conceivable preparation made, Mary settled herself on the porch at last, to face what was coming. The Sparrow peeped out at her. “I guess you'd as soon be left alone, my dear,” she said, tactfully. “Yes, please, Sparrow,” Mary replied, with a nervous smile. The little spinster slipped away.