“Never mind, dear.  What immense latitude we are allowed!  If she prove a meek, sweet cherub, a very saint in bib-aprons,—­with velvety eyes brown as a hazel nut, and silky chestnut ringlets,—­I shall gather her into my heart and coo over her as—­Columba, or Umilta, or Umbeline, or Una; but should we find her spoiled, and thoroughly leavened with iniquity,—­a blonde, yellow-haired tornado,—­then a proper regard for the ’unities will suggest that I vigorously enter a Christian protest, and lecture her grimly as Jezebel, Tomyris,—­Fulvia or Clytemnestra.’”

“She shall be called Regina Orme, and if it will not too heavily tax your kindness, I should like to give her the small room next your own, and ask Douglass to move across the hall and take the front chamber opening on the verandah.  The little girl may be timid, and it would comfort her to feel that you are within call should she be sick or become frightened.  I am sure Douglass will not object to the change.”

“Certainly not.  Blessings on his royal heart!  He would not be my own noble boy if he failed to obey any wish of yours.”

I will at once superintend the transfer of his books and clothes, for if the child comes to-day you have left me little time for preparation.

She put away the crochet basket and, looking affectionately at the grave face that watched her movements, said soberly: 

“Do not look so lugubrious; remember Abraham’s example of hospitality, and let us do all we can for this motherless lamb, or kid,—­whichever she may prove.  One thing more, and here-after I shall hold my peace.  You need not live in chronic dread, lest the Guy Fawkes of female curiosity pry into, and explode your mystery; for I assure you, Peyton, I shall never directly or indirectly question the child, and until you voluntarily broach the subject I shall never mention it to you.  Are you satisfied?”

“Fully satisfied with my sister, and inexpressibly grateful for her unquestioning faith in me.”

She swept him an exaggerated courtesy, and, despite the grey threads that began to glint in her auburn hair, ran up the stairway as lightly as a girl of fifteen.

For some time he stood with his hands behind him, gazing abstractedly through the open window, and now and then he heard the busy patter of hurrying feet in the room over head, while snatches of Easter anthems, and the swelling “Amen” of a “Gloria” rolled down the steps, assuring him that all doubt and suspicion had been ejected from the faithful, fond, sisterly heart.

Taking his broad-brimmed gardening hat from the table, the pastor went down among his flower-beds, followed by Bioern, to whose innate asperity of temper was added the snarling fretfulness of old age.