After a time Mary noticed that Stefan was being tired by the hubbub, and signaled an adjournment to the studio for tea and calm. The elders trooped out; the children fell upon the viands; and Miss Mason caught Rosamond by the petticoat as she endeavored to creep out after Gunther, whose great size seemed to fascinate her. The sculptor had given Mary a bronze miniature of his now famous “Pioneers” group. It was a beautiful thing, and Constance and James were anxious to know if other copies were to be obtained. “No,” Gunther answered them laconically, “I have only had three cast. One the President wished to have, the second is for myself, and Mrs. Byrd, as the original of the woman, naturally has the third.” “Couldn't you cast one or two more?” Constance pleaded. “No,” he replied, “I should not care to do so.” Stefan examined the bronze with interest, his keen eyes traveling from the man's figure to the woman's. “It's very good of you both,” he said, looking from Gunther to Mary, with a trace of his old teasing smile. Mary blushed slightly. For some reason which she did not analyze she was a trifle embarrassed at seeing herself perpetuated in bronze as the companion of the sculptor. When the guests began to leave, Mary urged the Farradays to remain a little longer. “It's only five o'clock,” she reminded them. Mrs. Farraday settled herself comfortably, and drew out her khaki-colored knitting. James lit his pipe, and Stefan wheeled forward to the glow of the fire, fitting a cigarette into his new amber holder. “I have a letter from Wallace,” said James, “that I've been waiting to read you. Shall I do so now?” “Oh, do!” exclaimed Mary, “we shall love to hear it. Wait a moment, though, while I fetch Rosamond--the Sparrow can't attend to them both at once _and_ help Lily.” She returned in a moment with the sleepy baby. “I'll have to put her to bed soon,” she said, settling into a low rocking chair, “but it isn't quite time yet. I suppose Jamie has heard his father's letter?” “Oh, yes,” said James, “and has dozens of his own, too.” “He's such a dear boy,” Mary continued, “he's playing like an angel with Ellie in there, while the Sparrow flits.” James unfolded Mac's closely written sheets, and read his latest accounts of the officers' training corps with which he had been for the last six months, the gossip that filtered to them from the front, and his expectation of being soon gazetted to a Highland Regiment. “The waiting is hard, but when once I get with our own lads in the trenches I'll be the happiest man alive,” wrote Mac. “Meanwhile, I think a lot of all you dear people. I'm more than happy in what you tell me of Byrd's success and of the bairns' and Mary's well being. Give them all my love and congratulations.” James turned the last page, and paused. “I think that's about all,” he said.