Miss Celia had been gone a fortnight, and every one was longing to have her back.  The first week brought Ben a newspaper, with a crinkly line drawn round the “marriages” to attract attention to that spot, and one was marked by a black frame with a large hand pointing at it from the margin.  Thorny sent that, but the next week came a parcel for Mrs. Moss, and in it was discovered a box of wedding-cake for every member of the family, including Sancho, who ate his at one gulp and chewed up the lace paper which covered it.  This was the third week, and as if there could not be happiness enough crowded into it for Ben, the letter he read on his way home told him that his dear mistress was coming back on the following Saturday.  One passage particularly pleased him: 

“I want the great gate opened, so that the new master may go in that way.  Will you see that it is done, and all made neat afterward.  Ronda will give you the key, and you may have out all your flags if you like, for the old place cannot look too gay for this home-coming.”

Sunday though it was, Ben could not help waving the letter over his head as he ran in to tell Mrs. Moss the glad news, and begin at once to plan the welcome they would give Miss Celia, for he never called her anything else.

During their afternoon stroll in the mellow sunshine, Ben continued to talk of her, never tired of telling about his happy summer under her roof.  And Mr. Brown was never weary of hearing, for every hour showed him more plainly what a lovely miracle her gentle words had wrought, and every hour increased his gratitude, his desire to return the kindness in some humble way.  He had his wish, and did his part handsomely when he least expected to have a chance.

On Monday he saw Mr. Towne, and, thanks to the Squire’s good word, was engaged for a month on trial, making himself so useful that it was soon evident he was the right man in the right place.  He lived on the hill, but managed to get down to the little brown house in the evening for a word with Ben, who just now was as full of business as if the President and his Cabinet were coming.

Everything was put in apple-pie order in and about the old house; the great gate, with much creaking of rusty hinges and some clearing away of rubbish, was set wide open, and the first creature who entered it was Sancho, solemnly dragging the dead mullein which long ago had grown above the top of it.  October frosts seemed to have spared some of the brightest leaves for this especial occasion, and on Saturday the gate-way was decorated with gay wreaths, red and yellow sprays strewed the flags, and the porch was a blaze of color with the red woodbine, that was in its glory when the honeysuckle was leafless.