“Glad to see you, young people!” he said, in the gruff voice which held the very spirit of kindliness.  “Glad to see you!  Hildegarde, many happy returns of the day to you, my dear child!  Take my arm, I beg!”

With Hildegarde on his arm, he led the way to the pretty drawing-room, all white and gold and yellow satin, which was seldom used in these days.  Hildegarde had secretly hoped that they would sit in the library, a delightful brown-leather sort of room, to which she had grown well used; but she appreciated the compliment of opening the drawing-room, and put on her best smile and look of pleasure.  Hugh Allen left his station by Mrs. Grahame’s chair, and came running with open arms to meet his Beloved.  “Oh, glory of the sunrise!” he exclaimed, as he threw his arms round her neck.  “I hope you will live fifty thousand years, and have strawberry jam every single day of them!”

“Dear me!” cried Hildegarde.  “I should beg for gooseberry once a week, dear boy, if it were going on quite so long as that.  Well, my mother, you look like the Queen of Conspirators.  What have you and Hugh been talking about, that you both look so guilty?”

“Guilty, my dear Hildegarde?” said Mrs. Grahame, drawing herself up.  “The word is a singular one for a daughter to use to her mother.”

“Yes,” said Hildegarde, “it is! and the thing is a singular one for a mother to be toward her daughter.  If ever I saw plot written all over an expressive countenance,—­but no more of this!  Dear Colonel Ferrers, how wonderful the roses are!”

Surely there never were so many roses as at Roseholme.  The house had been ransacked for jars, vases and bowls to hold them, and every available surface was a mass of glowing blossoms.  The girls hovered from vase to vase, exclaiming with delight at each new combination of beauties.

Now tea was announced, and this time Colonel Ferrers offered his arm to Mrs. Merryweather, as the stranger and new-comer in the neighbourhood; but the good lady protested against anyone but the “birthday child” being taken in by the host, and the Colonel yielded, it must be said with a very good grace.

Here, in the long, oak-panelled dining-room were more roses,—­ ropes and garlands of them, hanging in festoons along the dark, shining panels, drooping from the Venetian lustres of the quaint chandelier.  Even the moose’s head on the wall behind the Colonel’s chair had a wreath, cocked slightly on one side, which gave a waggish look to the stately creature.  The huge antlers spread abroad, three feet on either side; the boys eyed the trophy with wondering delight.”

“Oh, I say, sir!” cried Gerald, “did you shoot that moose?  I never saw such a fellow.  Why, Roger shot one last year that we thought was the grandfather moose of the world, but he was a baby to this one.”

The Colonel smiled, well-pleased, and told the story of his shooting the great moose.