A few days later the travellers were off.  When Red Pepper Burns and Ellen came in to say good-bye in the early evening they found the little house as warm as even the most solicitous person could desire, and both the elder and the younger inmate looking so rosy and happy that doubts of their continued welfare seemed unreasonable.  Charlotte, expecting them, was wearing a picturesque, if old and oft-rejuvenated, trailing frock of dull-rose silk, whose effect was to heighten the already splendid colour in her face.  It gave her also a certain air of grand lady which seemed hers by right, whether in the dignified old drawing-room Ellen remembered in the Ruston house, or in this small apartment, illumined by fire and candle-light, and graced by a little old lady in cap and kerchief of fine lace.  There were flowers on the table under the candles, and a tray with delicate glasses and a plate of little cakes.  Altogether, the whole atmosphere of the room was so comfortably hospitable, and the charm of Charlotte’s gay manner so convincing, that both her guests went away with the pleasant sense that they left real home happiness under the patched shingles of the roof, and contentment greater than that found beside most hearths.

“Remember that James Macauley has promised to be a brother to you in my absence, and will see you through any difficulty that may arise,” declared Burns, shaking hands.  “Arthur Chester claims the same privilege and both will be only too happy to be called on.  The small boys will vie with each other to keep your paths shovelled, and Bob wishes to be considered guard-in-chief.”

“Cynthia will be flattered to be asked to help you in any way, dear,” Ellen urged.  “She will be lonely with no one to cook for,—­do make her happy by letting her do things for you.”

“You dear people,” Charlotte responded, “be assured that Granny and I will remember all these counsels.  Don’t have us on your minds, but come back to us with the first crocuses, and know that we shall be wild with delight at seeing you.”

Burns stooped over Madam Chase’s chair, and took both her small hands in his.  “What shall I bring you from Germany, dear lady?” he asked.

She always heard him better than she heard most people, and laughed like a pleased child at the question.  “I spent a winter in Berlin, when I was a young woman,” said she.  “I remember it clearly enough.  There was a little shop in one of the streets—­I forget just which—­where they sold pictures of the emperor, in little carved frames.  William the First, it was then, grandfather of the present Emperor.  I should like such another little picture of the present Kaiser—­and thank you!”

“You shall have it—­and something else, of my own choosing, if I may.  Good-bye, dear lady.  May I kiss you good-bye?”

She permitted the privilege, beaming with pleasure under the reverent touch of her fair cheek.  Then she gave Burns a parting admonition.