“You should be called ‘Mab,’ and ride about the world on a butterfly, or a streak of moonshine.  How did you coax or conjure that honeysuckle into blooming before its appointed time?”

“Here are three pieces, two for the Bishop, and one for you.  May I fasten it in your hair?”

“You recite a lesson in history every day, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Have you come to the Salem-witches yet?”

“Not yet.  What has my history to do with this honeysuckle?”

“When you study metaphysics and begin the chase after that psychological fox—­the-law-of-association-of-ideas, you will understand.  Meanwhile, thank your stars, dear, that you did not live in Massachusetts some years ago, or you would certainly nave gone to heaven in the shape of smoke.  How you stare, you white owl!  As if you thought St. Vitus had rented my tongue for a dancing-saloon.  It is all because the Bishop is coming.  My blessed Bishop!  Yes, put the handsomest spray in my hair, and then, if you make me look young and very pretty, you may do as you like with the others.”

Still kneeling, she inclined her head, while Regina twisted the wreath around the coil of neatly braided hair.  Then, kissing the girl lightly on her cheek, Mrs. Lindsay closed the drawer and rose.  Drawing a silver cup from her pocket, Regina filled it with water, placed it close to the mirror, and proceeded to arrange the violets and honeysuckle.  Stepping back to inspect the effect, she folded her hands and smiled.

“Mrs. Lindsay, tell him I gathered them for him, because he was kind to me when I came here a stranger, and I wish to thank him.  When he is at home it seems always summer-time, don’t you think so?”

The mother’s eyes filled, and, laying a hand on the girl’s head, she answered: 

“Yes, dear, he is my sunshine, and my summer-time.”

“How long will he stay with us?”

“He could not say positively when his last letter was written, but I hope to keep him several months.  You know it is possible he may be forced to go to England, in order to complete some of his studies before—­oh, Regina! could we bear to have two oceans swelling between our Bishop and us?”

“Why, then, will you let him go?”

“Can I help it?”

“You are his mother, and he would never disobey you.”

“But he is a man, and I cannot tie him to my apron strings as I do my bunch of keys.  I must not stand in the way, and prevent him from doing his duty.”

“I suppose I don’t yet know everything about such matters, but I should think it was his duty first to please you.  How devoted he is to ‘duty’?  It must be horrible to leave all one loves, and go out to India among the heathens.”

“Pray, what do you know about the heathens?” said a manly voice, and instantly two strong arms gathered the pair in a cordial embrace.

“My son!  You stole a march upon me!  Oh, Douglass, I never was half so glad to see you as now!”