“Thank you, miss.  I told them you’d be willing they should come sometimes.  They like this place ever so much, and so do I,” said Ben, feeling that few spots combined so many advantages in the way of climbable trees, arched gates, half-a-dozen gables, and other charms suited to the taste of an aspiring youth who had been a flying Cupid at the age of seven.

“So do I,” echoed Miss Celia, heartily.  “Ten years ago I came here a little girl, and made lilac chains under these very bushes, and picked chick-weed over there for my bird, and rode Thorny in his baby-wagon up and down these paths.  Grandpa lived here then and we had fine times; but now they are all gone except us two.”

“We haven’t got any father either,” said Bab, for something in Miss Celia’s face made her feel as if a cloud had come over the sun.

[Illustration:  MISS CELIA AND HER LITTLE FRIENDS.]

“I have a first-rate father, if I only knew where he’d gone to,” said Ben, looking down the path as eagerly as if some one waited for him behind the locked gate.

“You are a rich boy, and you are happy little girls to have so good a mother; I’ve found that out already,” and the sun shone again as the young lady nodded to the neat, rosy children before her.

“You may have a piece of her if you want to, ’cause you haven’t got any of your own,” said Betty, with a pitiful look which made her blue eyes as sweet as two wet violets.

“So I will! and you shall be my little sisters.  I never had any, and I’d love to try how it seems,” and Miss Celia took both the chubby hands in hers, feeling ready to love every one this first bright morning in the new home which she hoped to make a very happy one.

Bab gave a satisfied nod, and fell to examining the rings upon the white hand that held her own.  But Betty put her arms about the new friend’s neck, and kissed her so softly that the hungry feeling in Miss Celia’s heart felt better directly, for this was the food it wanted, and Thorny had not learned yet to return one half of the affection he received.  Holding the child close, she played with the yellow braids while she told them about the little German girls in their funny black-silk caps, short-waisted gowns and wooden shoes, whom she used to see watering long webs of linen bleaching on the grass, watching great flocks of geese, or driving pigs to market, knitting or spinning as they went.

Presently, “Randa,” as she called her stout maid, came to tell her that “Master Thorny couldn’t wait another minute,” and she went in to breakfast with a good appetite, while the children raced home to bounce in upon Mrs. Moss, talking all at once like little lunatics.

“The phaeton at four,—­so sweet in a beautiful white gown,—–­going to tea, and Sancho and all the baby things invited.  Can’t we wear our Sunday frocks?  A splendid new net for Lita.  And she likes dolls.  Goody, goody, wont it be fun!”