Ann Penhallow spent the remainder of the next day in one of those household inspections which let no failure in neatness or order escape attention.  James Penhallow’s library was to be cleaned and cared for in a way to distress any man-minded man, while Leila looked on.  Had her aunt’s recent look of ill-health represented nothing but the depressing influence of a year of anxiety?  And, if so, why under the distress of a nearer and more material disaster should she grow so quickly active, and apparently strong in place of becoming more feeble.  She followed her aunt about the house trying to be helpful, and a little amused at her return to some of the ways which at times annoyed Penhallow into positive revolt.  As she thought of it, Ann was standing over a battered army-chest, open and half full of well-worn cavalry uniforms.

“Really, Leila,” she said, “these old army clothes had better be disposed of—­and that shabby smoking-jacket—­I have not seen it for years.  Why do men keep their useless, shabby clothes?”

“I think Uncle Jim wouldn’t like those old army uniforms given away, aunt; and don’t you remember how he looked like an old Van Dyke portrait in that lovely brown velvet jacket?”

Ann, standing with the much used garment in her hand, let it drop into the chest, saying, “I really cannot see the use of keeping things as men love to do—­”

“And women never!” cried Leila, closing the lid of the box, and remarking that he would like to find things as he left them; and had Aunt Ann noticed that there were moths about the bear skins.  Now a moth has the power of singularly exciting some women—­the diversion proved effectual.

And still as the week went by Ann seemed to be gaining in strength.

At lunch, a telegram from Charles Grey, Baltimore, said, “Penhallow here, doing well.  Will return on the 14th, by afternoon train, with Rivers and servant.”

“Read that, dear—­I want you, Leila, to ride to the mills and tell Dr. McGregor that I will send the carriage for him in time for him to meet your uncle at the station.  I had better not meet him—­and there will be Mark Rivers and Josiah and—­but you will see to all that.”

“Certainly, aunt.”

“It will be the day after to-morrow.  Be sure that the doctor makes no mistake.  There are two trains—­he will be on the four o’clock express.”  This was in the manner of her Aunt Ann of former days.  “Shall I write it down?”

Leila cried, “No,” and fled, laughing.

The next day to Leila’s surprise and pleasure her aunt came down to breakfast and quietly took her place as mistress of the tea-urn.  The talent of common sense as applicable to the lesser social commerce of life was one of Leila’s gifts, and she made no comment on her aunt’s amazing resumption of her old habits.  Ann herself felt some inclination to explain her rapid recovery of health, and said as she took the long-vacant seat at the breakfast table,