The light was turned up and showed an owl sitting on the top of an old tester that had formerly been the canopy of her grandmother's bed. The owl stared stupidly at them--turning its head solemnly. Helen laughed hysterically. "Now, sit down on the old sofa," he said. "There is much to say to you. We are now on the verge of a tragedy or a farce, or--" "Sometimes plays end well, where all are happy, do they not?" she asked, smiling hysterically and sitting by him, but looking at the uncanny owl beyond. She was silent, then: "Oh, I--I--don't you think I am entitled now--to have something end happily--now--once--in my life?" He pitied her and was silent. "Tell me," she said after a while, "you have moved father and Lily to--to--one of the Cottontown cottages?" He arose: "In a little while I will tell you, but now we must have something to eat first--you see I had this lunch fixed for our journey." He went out, over to his lap-robe and cushion, and brought a basket and placed it on an old table. "You may begin now and be my housekeeper," he smiled. "Isn't it time you were learning? I daresay I'll not find you a novice, though." She flushed and smiled. She arose gracefully, and her pretty hands soon had the lunch spread, Travis helping her awkwardly. It was a pretty picture, he thought--her flushed girlish face, yet matronly ways. He watched her slyly, with a sad joyousness in his eyes, drinking it in, as one who had hungered long for contentment and peace, such as this. She had forgotten everything else in the housekeeping. She even laughed some at his awkwardness and scolded him playfully, for, man-like, forgetting a knife and fork. It was growing chilly, and while she set the lunch he went out and brought in some wood. Soon a fine oak fire burned in the fireplace. They sat at the old table at last, side by side, and ate the delightful lunch. Under the influence of the bottle of claret, from The Gaffs cellar, her courage came and her animation was beautiful to him--something that seemed more of girlhood than womanhood. He drank it all in--hungry--heart-hungry for comfort and love; and she saw and understood. Never had he enjoyed a lunch so much. Never had he seen so beautiful a picture! When it was over he lit a cigar, and the fine odor filled the old room. Then very quietly he told her the story of Mammy Maria's return, of the little home she had prepared for them; of her coming that day to the mill and taking Lily, and that even now, doubtless, she was there looking for the elder sister. She did not show any surprise--only tears came slowly: "Do you know that I felt that something of this kind would happen? Dear Mammy--dear, dear Mammy Maria! She will care for Lily and father." She could stand it no longer. She burst into childish tears and, kneeling, she put her beautiful head on Travis's lap as innocently as if it were her old nurse's, and she, a child, seeking consolation.