“Why, Honora,” cried Susan, “how energetic you are!  I actually had a shock when I went to your room and found you’d gone.  I’ll have to write Miss Turner.”

“Don’t,” pleaded Honora; “you see, I had every inducement to get up.”

“She has been well occupied,” put in Mr. Holt.  “She has been admiring my garden.”

“Indeed I have,” said Honora.

“Oh, then, you have won father’s heart!” cried Susan.  Gwendolen Holt smiled.  Her eyes were fixed upon the roses in Honora’s belt.

“Good morning, Miss Leffingwell,” she said, simply.

Mr. Holt having removed the loam from his hands, the whole family, excepting Joshua, Junior, and including an indefinite number of children, and Carroll, the dignified butler, and Martha, the elderly maid, trooped into the library for prayers.  Mr. Holt sat down before a teak-wood table at the end of the room, on which reposed a great, morocco-covered Bible.  Adjusting his spectacles, he read, in a mild but impressive voice, a chapter of Matthew, while Mrs. Joshua tried to quiet her youngest.  Honora sat staring at a figure on the carpet, uncomfortably aware that Mrs. Robert was still studying her.  Mr. Holt closed the Bible reverently, and announced a prayer, whereupon the family knelt upon the floor and leaned their elbows on the seats of their chairs.  Honora did likewise, wondering at the facility with which Mr. Holt worded his appeal, and at the number of things he found to pray for.  Her knees had begun to ache before he had finished.

At breakfast such a cheerful spirit prevailed that Honora began almost to feel at home.  Even Robert indulged occasionally in raillery.

“Where in the world is Josh?” asked Mrs. Holt, after they were seated.

“I forgot to tell you, mother,” little Mrs. Joshua chirped up, “that he got up at an unearthly hour, and went over to Grafton to look at a cow.”

“A cow!” sighed Mrs:  Holt.  “Oh, dear, I might have known it.  You must understand, Honora, that every member of the Holt family has a hobby.  Joshua’s is Jerseys.”

“I’m sure I should adore them if I lived in the country,” Honora declared.

“If you and Joshua would only take that Sylvester farm, and build a house, Annie,” said Mr. Holt, munching the dried bread which was specially prepared for him, “I should be completely happy.  Then,” he added, turning to Honora, “I should have both my sons settled on the place.  Robert and Gwen are sensible in building.”

“It’s cheaper to live with you, granddad,” laughed Mrs. Joshua.  “Josh says if we do that, he has more money to buy cows.”

At this moment a footman entered, and presented Mrs. Holt with some mail on a silver tray.

“The Vicomte de Toqueville is coming this afternoon, Joshua,” she announced, reading rapidly from a sheet on which was visible a large crown.  “He landed in New York last week, and writes to know if I could have him.”