He went off gaily.  Mrs. Fields looked after him affectionately.

“Oh, yes, Andy Churchill, it’s plain to be seen your heart’s in the right place as much as ever it was, if you have got married,” she thought.

“O Fieldsy,”—­and this time it was Charlotte who invaded the kitchen and grasped the housekeeper’s hands—­“how good it seems to be back!  But I can’t realise a bit I’m at home over here, can you?”

“You’ll soon get used to it, I guess, Mis’ Churchill.”

“Oh, and that sounds strange—­from you!” declared Charlotte, laughing.  “I’d begun to get a little bit used to it down in Virginia.  If you don’t say ‘Miss Charlotte’ once in a while to me I shall feel quite lost.”

“I guess Doctor Churchill ’d have something to say about that, if I should.  I don’t believe but what he’s terrible proud of that name.”

It was certainly a name nobody seemed able to “get used to.”  Just called his sister by the new title once during the evening.  They were at the table when he thus addressed her, and there followed a succession of comments.

“Don’t you dare call her that when I’m round!” remarked Jeff.

“I actually didn’t understand at first whom you meant,” said Celia.

“I’ve not forgotten how long it took me to learn that my name was Birch,” said Charlotte’s mother, with a smile so bright that it covered the involuntary sigh.

“Is Aunty Charlotte my Aunty Churchill now?” piped little Ellen.  Lucy and Randolph Peyton laughed.

“Of course, she is, dumpling, only you can keep on calling her Aunty Charlotte.  And I’m your Uncle Andy.  How do you like that?”

“Oh, I like that!” agreed Ellen, and edged her chair an inch nearer “Uncle Andy.”

Dinner over, Celia bore Ellen home to bed.  Charlotte suggested the same possibility for the Peyton children, but although it was nearing nine o’clock, both refused so decidedly that after a glance at their mother, who took no notice, Charlotte said no more.

Randolph grew sleepy in his chair, and Doctor Churchill presently took pity on him.  He sat down beside the lad and told him a story of so intentionally monotonous a character that Randolph was soon half over the border.  Then the doctor picked him up, and with the drooping head on his shoulder observed, pleasantly: 

“This lad wants his bed, Cousin Lula.  May I take him to it?”

Mrs. Peyton, engaged in telling Mr. Birch her opinion of certain Northern institutions she had lately observed, nodded absently.  Doctor Churchill ascended the stairs, and Charlotte, slipping from the room, ran up ahead of him to get Randolph’s cot in readiness.

“That’s it, old fellow!  Wake up enough to let me get your clothes off,” Churchill bade the sleep-heavy child.  “Can you find his nightclothes, Charlotte?  Cousin Lula seems to have unpacked.  That’s it.  Thank you!  Now, Ran, you’ll be glad to be in bed, won’t you?  Can you wake up enough to say your prayers, son?  No?  Well that’s not altogether your fault,” he said, softly, and smiled at Charlotte.  “I think we’d better invite Lucy up, too, don’t you?”