As the stage from the railway station rolled up to Fairacres, Amy was waiting upon the wide porch. She had put on her daintiest frock, white, of course, since her father liked her to wear no other sort of dress; and she had twisted sprays of scarlet woodbine through her dark hair and about her shoulders. Before the vehicle stopped, she called out eagerly:-- "Oh! how glad I am you're here! It's been such a long two days! Are you all well? Is everything right, mother dearest? Did you have a nice time?" The father reached her first, remarking, with a fond smile:-- "You make a sweet picture, daughter, with that open doorway behind you, with the firelight and candlelight, and--Ah! did you speak, Salome?" turning toward his wife. "The man is waiting, Cuthbert. Has thee the money for him?" Mr. Kaye fumbled in one pocket, tried another, frowned, and appeared distressed. "Never mind, dear. Hallam can attend to it." But the crippled lad had already swung himself over the steps upon his crutches, and the artist remarked, with a fresh annoyance:-- "He must put it in the bill, Salome. Why always bother with such trifles? If one could only get away from the thought and sound of money. Its sordidness is the torment of one's life." Mrs. Kaye sighed, as she paid the hackman from her own purse, then followed her husband into the house. His face had already lost all its expression of annoyance, and now beamed with satisfaction as he regarded Amy's efforts to celebrate the home-coming. "Good child. Good little girl. Truly, very beautiful. Why, my darling, you'll be an artist yourself some day, I believe." "The saints forbid!" murmured a voice from the further side the room, where Cleena had appeared, bearing a tray of dishes. Nobody heard the ejaculation, however, save Hallam, and he didn't count, being of one and the same opinion as the old serving-woman. All the lad's ambitions lay toward a ceaseless activity, and the coloring of canvases attracted him less than even the meanest kind of manual labor. Nor did Amy share in her father's hope, though she loved art for his sake, and she answered, with conviction:-- "Never such an one as you are, father dear." But all this while the daughter's eyes had been studying her mother's face, with the keen penetration of sympathy, and the whispered advice:-- "Be especially gentle with Hallam to-night, my child," but confirmed the answer she had already found in that careworn countenance. Yet Hallam showed no need of consolation as he sturdily stumped across the room and exclaimed, cheerfully enough:-- "Fetch on the provender, Goodsoul. We're all as hungry as bears. What's for us?" "What should be? save the best rasher of bacon ever blessed eyesight, with tea-biscuits galore. For second course--My! but that pullet was a tender bird, so she was. An' them east-lot petaties would fain melt in your mouth, they're so hot-foot to be ate."