Last, but by no means least, Miss Celia, her young brother and two maids, arrived one evening so late that only Mrs. Moss went over to help them settle.  The children were much disappointed, but were appeased by a promise that they should all go to pay their respects in the morning.

They were up so early, and were so impatient to be off, that Mrs. Moss let them go with the warning that they would find only the servants astir.  She was mistaken, however, for as the procession approached, a voice from the porch called out:  “Good morning, little neighbors!” so unexpectedly, that Bab nearly spilt the new milk she carried, Betty gave such a start that the fresh-laid eggs quite skipped in the dish, and Ben’s face broke into a broad grin over the armful of clover which he brought for the bunnies, as he bobbed his head, saying, briskly: 

“She’s all right, miss; Lita is, and I can bring her over any minute you say.”

“I shall want her at four o’clock.  Thorny will be too tired to drive, but I must hear from the post-office, rain or shine;” and Miss Celia’s pretty color brightened as she spoke, either from some happy thought or because she was bashful, for the honest young faces before her plainly showed their admiration of the white-gowned lady under the honeysuckles.

The appearance of Miranda, the maid, reminded the children of their errand, and having delivered their offerings, they were about to retire in some confusion, when Miss Celia said pleasantly: 

“I want to thank you for helping put things in such nice order.  I see signs of busy hands and feet both inside the house and all about the grounds, and I am very much obliged.”

“I raked the beds,” said Ben, proudly eying the neat ovals and circles.

“I swept all the paths,” added Bab, with a reproachful glance at several green sprigs fallen from the load of clover on the smooth walk.

“I cleared up the porch,” and Betty’s clean pinafore rose and fell with a long sigh, as she surveyed the late summer residence of her exiled family.

Miss Celia guessed the meaning of that sigh, and made haste to turn it into a smile by asking, anxiously: 

“What has become of the playthings?  I don’t see them anywhere.”

“Ma said you wouldn’t want our duds round, so we took them all home,” answered Betty, with a wistful face.

“But I do want them round.  I like dolls and toys almost as much as ever, and quite miss the little “duds” from porch and path.  Suppose you come to tea with me to-night and bring some of them back?  I should be very sorry to rob you of your pleasant play-place.”

“Oh yes’m, we’d love to come! and we’ll bring our best things.”

“Ma always lets us have our shiny pitchers and the china poodle when we go visiting or have company at home,” said Bab and Betty, both speaking at once.

“Bring what you like and I’ll hunt up my toys too.  Ben is to come also, and his poodle is especially invited,” added Miss Celia as Sancho came and begged before her, feeling that some agreeable project was under discussion.