The all-inclusive narrative was not destined to get very far. Old Mr. Kendall came hurrying in, the sermon on the casting down of Baal in his hand. Thereafter he led, guided, and to a large extent monopolized the conversation. His discourse had proceeded perhaps as far as “Thirdly” when Albert, looking at his watch, was surprised to find it almost dinner time. Mr. Kendall, still talking, departed to his study to hunt for another sermon. The young people said good-by in his absence. “It has been awfully good to see you again, Helen,” declared Albert. “But I told you that in the beginning, didn't I? You seem like--well, like a part of home, you know. And home means something to me nowadays.” “I'm glad to hear you speak of South Harniss as home. Of course I know you don't mean to make it a permanent home--I imagine Madeline would have something to say about that--but it is nice to have you speak as if the old town meant something to you.” He looked about him. “I love the place,” he said simply. “I am glad. So do I; but then I have lived here all my life. The next time we talk I want to know more about your plans for the future--yours and Madeline's, I mean. How proud she must be of you.” He looked up at her; she was standing upon the upper step and he on the walk below. “Madeline and I--” he began. Then he stopped. What was the use? He did not want to talk about it. He waved his hand and turned away. After dinner he went out into the kitchen to talk to Mrs. Ellis, who was washing dishes. She was doing it as she did all her share of the housework, with an energy and capability which would have delighted the soul of a “scientific management” expert. Except when under the spell of a sympathetic attack Rachel was ever distinctly on the job. And of course she was, as always, glad to see her protege, her Robert Penfold. The proprietary interest which she had always felt in him was more than ever hers now. Had not she been the sole person to hint at the possibility of his being alive, when every one else had given him up for dead? Had not she been the only one to suggest that he might have been taken prisoner? Had SHE ever despaired of seeing him again--on this earth and in the flesh? Indeed, she had not; at least, she had never admitted it, if she had. So then, hadn't she a RIGHT to feel that she owned a share in him? No one ventured to dispute that right. She turned and smiled over one ample shoulder when he entered the kitchen. “Hello,” she hailed cheerfully. “Come callin', have you, Robert--Albert, I mean? It would have been a great help to me if you'd been christened Robert. I call you that so much to myself it comes almost more natural than the other. On account of you bein' so just like Robert Penfold in the book, you know,” she added. “Yes, yes, of course, Rachel, I understand,” put in Albert hastily. He was not in the mood to listen to a dissertation on a text taken from Foul Play. He looked about the room and sighed happily.