“Mother’s sent you something she was sure you would like to have,” Pauline said.  “Please, will you take in a visitor for a few days?” she added, laying a hand on Hilary’s.

“You’ve brought Hilary out to stop?” Mrs. Boyd cried delightedly.  “Now I call that mighty good of your mother.  You come right ’long in, both of you:  you’re sure you can’t stop, too, Pauline?”

“Only to supper, thank you.”

Mrs. Boyd had the big valise out from under the seat by now.  “Come right ’long in,” she repeated.  “You’re tired, aren’t you, Hilary?  But a good night’s rest’ll set you up wonderful.  Take her into the spare room, Pauline.  Dear me, I must have felt you was coming, seeing that I aired it out beautiful only this morning.  I’ll go call Mr. Boyd to take Fanny to the barn.”

“Isn’t she the dearest thing!” Pauline declared, as she and Hilary went indoors.

The spare room was back of the parlor, a large comfortable room, with broad windows facing south and west, and a small vine-covered porch all its own on the south side of the room.

Pauline pulled forward a great chintz-cushioned rocker, putting her sister into it, and opened the porch door.  Beyond lay a wide, sloping meadow and beyond the meadow, the lake sparkled and rippled in the sunshine.

“If you’re not contented here, Hilary Shaw!” Pauline said, standing in the low doorway.  “Suppose you pretend you’ve never been here before!  I reckon you’d travel a long ways to find a nicer place to stay in.”

“I shouldn’t doubt it if you were going to stay with me, Paul; I know I’m going to be homesick.”

Pauline stretched out a hand to Captain, the old dog, who had come around to pay his compliments.  Captain liked visitors—­when he was convinced that they really were visitors, not peddlers, nor agents, quite as well as his master and mistress did.  “You’d be homesick enough, if you really were off on your travels—­you’d better get used to it.  Hadn’t she, Captain?” Pauline went to unpack the valise, opening the drawers of the old-fashioned mahogany bureau with a little breath of pleasure.  “Lavender!  Hilary.”

Hilary smiled, catching some of her sister’s enthusiasm.  She leaned back among her cushions, her eyes on the stretch of shining water at the far end of the pasture.  “I wish you were going to be here, Paul, so that we could go rowing.  I wonder if I’ll ever feel as if I could row again, myself.”

“Of course you will, and a great deal sooner than you think.”  Pauline hung Hilary’s dressing-gown across the foot of the high double bed.  “Now I think you’re all settled, ma’am, and I hope to your satisfaction.  Isn’t it a veritable ‘chamber of peace,’ Hilary?”

Through the open door and windows came the distant tinkle of a cow bell, and other farm sounds.  There came, too, the scent of the early May pinks growing in the borders of Mrs. Boyd’s old-fashioned flower beds.  Already the peace and quiet of the house, the homely comfort, had done Hilary good; the thought of the long simple days to come, were not so depressing as they had seemed when thought of that morning.