“Zephania!” he called.

“Yes, sir?” It sounded as though she were sitting on the back doorstep.

“The door is unlocked.  Come in.  You’ll find things to eat on the table and things to cook with in the closets.  I’ll be dressed in a few minutes.”

He heard the door open as he closed his own portal, and in a moment a stove-lid fell clanging to the floor.  After that Zephania’s presence in the house was never for a moment in doubt.  Rattle-bang went the poker, clicketty-click went the shaker, and triumphant over all rose Zephania’s shrill young voice: 

  “’O Beulah land, sweet Beulah land,
    As on thy highest mount I stand;
  I look away across the sea,
    Where mansions are prepared for me.’”

“She has a cheerful presence,” muttered Wade.  “I wonder if she does that all the time.”

But Zephania’s vocal efforts were forgotten for the moment in the annoying discovery that he had neglected to provide washing accommodations.  He had intended using the kitchen sink for ablutions, but with Zephania in possession of that apartment it was out of the question.  It was evident that if he meant to wash in the kitchen he would have to get up earlier.  What time of day was it, anyhow?  He looked at his watch and whistled.

“Twenty minutes of seven!” he ejaculated.  “This won’t do.  I guess I’d better get my own breakfasts.  If there’s one thing a chap wants to do in vacation it’s sleep late.”

He raised the shades and flung open the front windows.  On the lilac hedge a bird was poised singing his heart out.  Wade watched him in admiration and wondered what kind of a bird he was.  To Wade a bird was a bird as long as it was neither a buzzard nor a crow.

“You’re not a buzzard,” he told the songster, “nor a crow.  You have a gray breast and brown body and a black cap on your head.  Wonder who you are.  Guess you’re a sparrow.  I believe I’ll get a book telling about birds.  They’re interesting little devils.  Look at him put his head back!  Just as though he meant to crack things wide open.  By Jove!  I have it!  Your name’s Zephania!”

A baker’s cart ambled by beyond the hedge, the driver leaning around the corner of the vehicle to regard the cottage curiously.  Out on the common a bay horse, his halter-rope dragging under his feet, cropped the lush grass.

“You’re happy,” murmured Wade.  “The bird’s happy.  Zephania’s happy.  This must be a happy village.”  He pondered a moment, gazing contentedly about the cosy sunlit room.  Then, “And I’m happy myself,” he added with conviction.  And to prove it he began to whistle merrily while he finished dressing.  Presently there was a knock on the dining-room door.

“Yes?” responded Wade.

“Please, sir, what will you have for breakfast?” Being by this time decently dressed, Wade opened the door.

“Hello!” he said.

“Good morning,” answered Zephania.