Then Master Sullivan, the exile, closed his book and sprang to his feet, a tall and ancient figure with the manners of a prince. He bent to kiss the hand of his guest, and looked at her silently before he spoke, with an unconscious eagerness of affection equal to her own. "A thousand welcomes!" he said at last. "I should have seen you coming; you have had no one to serve you. I was on the Sabine farm with Horace; ’t is far enough away!" he added, with a smile. "I like to fasten my horse myself," answered Mary. "’T is best I should; he makes it a point of honor then to stand still and wait for me, and resents a stranger’s hand, being young and impatient." Mary looked bright and smiling; she threw back her close green hood, and her face bloomed out of it like a flower, as she stood before the gallant, frail old man. "There was a terrible little bean stack that came up the hill beside us," she went on, as if to amuse him, "and I heard a voice out of it, and saw two steady feet that I knew to be Mrs. Sullivan’s; but my black Duke was pleased to be frightened out of his wits, and so we have all parted on bad terms, this dark day." "She will shine upon you like a May morning when she comes in, then!" said Master Sullivan. "She ’s in a huge toil the day, with sure news of a great storm that’s coming. ’Stay a while,’ I begged her, ’stay a while, my dear; the wind is in a fury, and to-morrow’"— "An’ to-morrow indeed!" cried the master’s wife, bursting in at the door, half a wild brownie and half a tame enough grandmotherly old soul. "An’ to-morrow! I ’ve heard nothing but to-morrow from ye all my life long, an’ here ’s the hand of winter upon us again, an’ thank God all me poor little crops is under cover, an’ no praise to yourself." The old man held out his slender hand; she did not take it, but her face began to shine with affection. "Thank God, ’t is yourself, Miss Mary Hamilton, my dear!" she exclaimed, dropping a curtsy. "My old gentleman here has been sorrowing for a sight of your fair face these many days. ’T is in December like this we do be sighing after the May. I don’t know, have ye brought any news yet from the ship?" "Oh no, not yet," said Mary. "No, there is no news yet from the Ranger." "I have had good dreams of her, then," announced the old creature with triumph. "Listen: there ’s quarrels amongst ’em, but they ’ll come safe to shore, with gold in everybody’s two hands." She crossed the room, and drew her lesser wheel close to her knee and began to spin busily. *XVII* *THE REMNANT OF ANOTHER TIME* "Simple and true I share with all The treasures of a kindly mind; And in my cottage, poor and small, The great a welcome find. "I vex not Gods, nor patron friend, For larger gifts or ampler store; My modest Sabine farm can lend All that I want, and more."