It was two years before Linnet could be persuaded to put on her widow’s mourning, and then she did it to please the two mothers.  The color gradually came back to her cheeks and lips; she moved around with a grave step, but her hands were never idle.  After two years she insisted upon going back to Will’s home, where the shutters had been barred so long, and the only signs of life were the corn and rye growing in the fields about it.

Annie Grey was glad to be with her again.  She worked at dressmaking; and spent every night at home with Linnet.

The next summer the travellers returned from abroad; Mr. Holmes, more perfectly his developed self; little Prue growing up and as charming a girl as ever papa and mamma had hoped for, prayed for, and worked for; and Mrs. Holmes, or “Miss Prudence” and “Aunt Prue,” as she was called, a lady whose slight figure had become rounded and whose white hair shaded a fair face full of peace.

There was no resisting such persuasions as those of Mrs. Kemlo, the girls’ mother, and the “girls” themselves; and almost before they had decided upon it they found themselves installed at Mrs. West’s for the summer.  Before the first snow, however, a house was rented in New York City, the old, homelike furniture removed to it, and they had but to believe it to feel themselves at home in the long parlor in Maple Street.

Linnet was taken from her lonely home by loving force, and kept all winter.  She could be at rest with Miss Prudence; she could be at rest and enjoy and be busy.  It was wonderful how many things she became busied about and deeply interested in.  Her letters to Marjorie were as full of life as in her school days.  She was Linnet, Mrs. Holmes wrote to her mother; but she was Linnet chastened and sanctified.

And all this time Hollis and Marjorie had written to each other, and had seen each other for two weeks every day each year.

During the winter Linnet spent in New York the firm for which he travelled became involved; the business was greatly decreased; changes were made:  one of the partners left the firm; the remaining head had a nephew, whom he preferred to his partner’s favorite, Hollis Rheid; and Hollis Rheid found himself with nothing to do but to look around for something to do.

“Come home,” wrote his father.  “I will build you a house, and give you fifty acres of good land.”

With the letter in his pocket, he sought his friends, the Holmes’.  He was not so averse to a farmer’s life as he had been when he once spoke of it to Marjorie.

He found Prue practicing; papa was in the study, she said, and mamma and Linnet had gone to the train to meet Marjorie.

“Marjorie did not tell me that she was coming.”

“It was to be your surprise, and now I’ve spoiled it.”

“Nothing can spoil the pleasure of it,” he returned.

Prue stationed herself at the window, as when she was a little girl, to watch for Marjorie.  She was still the blue bird with the golden crest.