"Yes, after that summer he spent here." The old eyes were mild. "And although Henri was a couple of years older, the two boys set up a sort of David and Jonathan league. And when Henri's father sent for him to come back to France--they said--humph!" The mildness vanished in a sudden blaze. "What did they say?" Again Mrs. Gano threw back her head. "Ethan _had_ been coming here. We had his room all ready for him, and Valeria had bought pink wax-candles for his dressing-table--a most unnecessary extravagance for a boy, as I told her. And as for Jerusha, she wasted half her mornings brightening up Ethan's knocker on the front door, and the rest of the time she was making cinnamon rolls. And, after all--humph!" she said, with something rather near to a snort. "Then those Tallmadges wrote, didn't they?" said Emmie, gently applying the spur. "Ho, yes, the Tallmadges wrote. The children were heart-broken at the idea of separating, and so they had to let Ethan go to Neuilly with the De Poincy boy." "To improve his accent!" added Emmie, with borrowed scorn. "Oh yes; I admitted in my reply that Ethan's accent was no doubt again in need of improvement, but it had not been necessary to send him so far afield as France." "How long did he stay?" asked Val. "Three years. He came back the summer you were born. He was nearly ten." "Well, it's a good thing he came back. He does look a gump in those French clo's--I mean"--Val caught herself up hurriedly, seeing how unpopular the observation was--"I mean, I like him best in proper American things. This last picture's scrumptious!" After this, it was not only gran'ma and An' Jerusha who held the Fort in readiness for Ethan's coming, eager to capitulate at the first blow on the door; but two little girls as well, in their different ways, set their faces towards the day when E. Gano's big brass knocker should be lifted by E. Gano's own hand. School had been postponed, partly because Mrs. Gano was too anxious about her son's health, and too absorbed in the task of convincing him indirectly that life was worth living, to take the necessary steps for entering her granddaughter in the Primary Department of the Plymouth Seminary for Young Ladies. But, besides this preoccupation, it was recognized that the fall term was already far advanced, and it might be as well--it was certainly more economical--to wait till after Christmas. However, the growing discomfort and complication of having so objectionable a child about hastened the beginning of Val's school days. With great misgiving, and full of suspicion, Val took her place at a little hacked and initialed desk in the down-stairs school one fine day towards the middle of November.