“Beat you in a race to the lawn, Polly,” shouted Ralph, back in boyhood’s world now that he was beyond the bounds of Bancroft, and the next moment he and Polly were racing across the lawn like a pair of children, for it seemed so good to be away for a time from the unrelaxing discipline of the Academy, and Polly realized this as well as the others.

“We are to have luncheon out under the oaks,” said Peggy.  “It is too heavenly a day to be indoors.  Jerome and Mammy have everything ready so we have nothing to do but eat.  You won’t mind picnicking will you, Mrs. Harold.”

“Mind!” echoed Mrs. Harold.  “Why it is simply ideal, Peggy dear.  What do you say, sons?” she asked turning to the others.

“Say!  Say!  Let’s give the Four-N Yell right off for Peggy Stewart, Chatelaine of Severndale!” cried Wheedles, and out upon the clear, crisp autumn air rang the good old Navy cheer: 

“N—­n—­n—­n! 
A—­a—­a—­a! 
V—­v—­v—­v! 
Y—­y—­y—­y!

Navy!

Peggy Stewart!  Peggy Stewart! 
Peggy Stewart!”

Peggy’s cheeks glowed and her eyes shone.  It was something to win that cheer from these lads, boys at heart, though just at manhood’s morning, and sworn to the service of their flag.  How she wished Daddy Neil could hear it.  Captain Pennell, into whose life during the past month had come some incentive to live, joined in the yell with a will, giving his cap a toss into the air when the echoes of it went floating out over the Severn, while Mrs. Harold and Polly waved their sweaters wildly, and yelled with all their strength.

Never had Severndale been more beautiful than upon that November afternoon.  October’s rich coloring had given place to the dull reds, burnt-umbers, and rich wood browns of late autumn, though the grass was still green underfoot, and the holly and fir trees greener by contrast.

And Peggy was in her element.

Never in all her short life had she been so happy.  All the instincts of her Stewart ancestors with their Southern hospitality was finding expression as she led the way to a grove of mighty oaks, tinged by night frosts to the richest maroon, and literally kings of their surroundings, for the deep umber tones of the beeches only served to emphasize their coloring.  Beneath them was spread a long table fairly groaning with suggestions of the feast to come, and near it, flanked by Jerome and Mammy, stood Dr. Llewellyn.

As the party came laughing, scrambling or walking toward it he advanced to welcome Mrs. Harold, saying: 

“Did you realize that there would be thirteen at the feast unless a fourteenth could be pressed into service?  Consider me as merely a necessary adjunct, please, and don’t let the young people regard me as a kill-joy because I wear a long coat buttoned straight up to my chin.  The only difference really is that I have to keep mine buttoned whereas they have to hook their collars,” and the good doctor laughed.  Introductions followed and then no time was lost in seating the luncheon party.