I don’t know whether I slept that night; but, if I did, I did not dream.

The next forenoon I waited until eleven o’clock before I went home.  I wanted to be sure Aunt Elizabeth was safely away at Whitman.  Yet, after all, I did not dread her now.  I had been told what to do.  Some one was telling me of a song the other day, “Command me, dear.”  I had been commanded to stop thinking of all those things I hated.  I had done it.  Mother met me at the steps.  She seemed a little anxious, but when she had put her hand on my shoulder and really looked at me she smiled the way I love to see her smile.  “That’s a good girl!” said she.  Then she added, quickly, as if she thought I might not like it and ought to know at once, “Aunt Elizabeth saw Dr. Denbigh going by to Whitman, and she asked him to take her over.”

“Did she?” said I.  “Oh, mother, the old white rose is out!”

“There they are, back again,” said mother.  “He’s leaving her at the gate.”

Well, we both waited for Aunt Elizabeth to come up the path.  I picked the first white rose and made mother smell it, and when I had smelled it myself I began to sing under my breath, “Come into the garden, Maud,” because I remembered last night.

“Hush, child,” said mother, quickly.  “Elizabeth, you are tired.  Come right in.”

Aunt Elizabeth’s lip trembled a little.  I thought she was going to cry.  I had never known her to cry, though I had seen tears in her eyes, and I remember once, when she was talking to Dr. Denbigh, Charles Edward noticed them and laughed.  “Those are not idle tears, Peg,” he said to me “They’re getting in their work.”

Now I was so sorry for her that I stopped thinking of last night and put it all away.  It seemed cruel to be so happy.  Aunt Elizabeth sat down on the step and mother brought her an eggnog.  It had been all ready for grandmother, and I could see mother thought Aunt Elizabeth needed it, if she was willing to make grandmother wait.

“Ada,” said Aunt Elizabeth, suddenly, as she sipped it, “what was Dr. Denbigh’s wife like?”

“Why,” said mother, “I’d almost forgotten he had a wife, it was so long ago.  She died in the first year of their marriage.”

Aunt Elizabeth laughed a little, almost as if no one were there.  “He began to talk about her quite suddenly this morning,” she said.  “It seems Peg reminds him of her.  He is devoted to her memory.  That’s what he said—­devoted to her memory.”

“That’s good,” said mother, cheerfully, as if she didn’t know quite what to say.  “More letters, Lily?  Any for us?” I could see mother was very tender of her for some reason, or she never would have called her Lily.

“For me,” said Aunt Elizabeth, as if she were tired.  “From Mrs. Chataway.  A package, too.  It looks like visiting-cards.  That seems to be from her, too.”  She broke open the package.  “Why!” said she, “of all things!  Why!”

“That’s pretty engraving,” said mother, looking over her shoulder.  She must have thought they were Aunt Elizabeth’s cards.  “Why! of all things!”