Behind the little house between two cedar trees the line of white clothes waved merrily in the breeze. Mrs. Walker from the other side of the fence, stood in the doorway and admired the scrubbed and polished kitchen. “Land sakes, Mis’ Douglass, you _are_ smart this morning!” The dark woman, her sleeves tucked up, was kneading a batch of dough. She did not stop. There was still so much to do, and her breasts were heavy with milk. She must set these loaves before she nursed the baby. But she smiled at her neighbor, her eyes shining. “My husband’s coming home!” Mrs. Walker laughed sympathetically. “I know, but not today. Body’d think he was walkin’ in this minute.” In the next room little Rosetta filled an earthen jar with buttercups and violets she had picked down by the river. It spilled over and she began to cry. “Never mind,” comforted Lewis. He spoke with masculine superiority, reinforced by his eight years. “Pa’s got no time for flowers anyhow.” But Miss Abigail always kept flowers on the table. She had taught Rosetta how to arrange them, and now the little girl wiped her eyes and returned to her task. She had only that week been brought back to the cottage in Lynn for her father’s homecoming. Shortly before the baby was born the Misses Abigail and Lydia Mott had taken the child to live with them in Albany. To this extent the Quaker ladies had lightened Anna’s responsibilities. They had cared for and taught Frederick Douglass’ little daughter carefully. Now she was home for a visit, they said: they wanted her back. “Don’t touch!” Rosetta climbed down from the chair and eyed her centerpiece with satisfaction. She spoke to three-year-old Charlie, whose round face was also turned toward the flowers. Freddie, all of his six years intent on mending a hole in the fence, had sent his “baby brother” into the house with a terse “Get outta my way!” Charlie’s plump legs carried him hither and yon obeying orders. Now he was wondering what he could do on his own. Pa was coming--and he wanted to do something special. All at once he yelled, “I’ll show him the baby!” Two days later he clung, ecstatic with joy, to the big man’s coat when for the first time the father held his new daughter in his arms. It was love at first sight. Perhaps because she was called Annie, or perhaps it was the very special way she wrapped her fist about his thumb. Over the heads of their children, Anna and Frederick smiled at each other. The months had put lines on her face; he knew the days and nights had not been easy. He had yet to rub the rough callouses on her hands and find out about the shoes! Anna saw that her husband had grown, that he had gone far. He had walked in high places. But now he was home again. They were together. They feasted that evening. The children tumbled over themselves being useful. They emptied their plates and then sat listening, wide-eyed. He talked and then he too asked questions.