Jewel Weed Part 45

"I pray we may. I believe we shall," answered her husband earnestly.

"I know we shall, doubting Thomas. I'm one of the women who are strong in unreasoning faith."

They stood silently smiling at each other for a moment.

"Shall we celebrate the beginning of home with pomp and music?" she asked. "There's a little time before dinner. Make yourself comfortable.

Push Mrs. Percival up to the fire."

"Mrs. Percival!" Ellery exclaimed, dropping his guilty arm and looking about in a startled manner.

"Oh, I forgot you didn't know. I've been all over the house this afternoon, christening our things with the names of the people that gave them to us. Doesn't it make all the wedding presents seem very friendly and not at all new? Wouldn't you know, even if you hadn't been told, that this particular chair was Mother Percival--it's so graceful and comforting. Dump yourself into it, Ellery."

She pushed him down laughing.

"Ah, I begin to see that you stole your atmosphere. The things aren't so new after all. They're old acquaintances."

"Of course they are. Isn't it jolly to have 'your loving friends' tucked around in spirit in every nook and corner of the house, without the nuisance of having the good people here in the body to disturb our privacy?"

"I see," he meditated, then went on ungratefully: "After all, I think I'm more taken with the privacy than with the spiritual presences, though they can hardly be considered skeletons at the feast."

"I should think not," exclaimed Madeline indignantly. "I love them each and all--well, with a few exceptions, Ellery. You needn't grin sarcastically. Now there's the piano--such a piano as I have always dreamed of but never hoped to own. If I called it a Steinway Grand, I should know that it was an excellent instrument; but when I call it 'Vera,' it warms and delights my heart a thousand times."

Ellery rose and bowed ceremoniously to the piano.

"Vera, will you and Mrs. Norris favor me with Schubert's _Serenade_, while I sit on Mrs. Percival?" he asked. "I am ragingly hungry, but perhaps the _Serenade_ will keep me harmless and quiet for a little."

He sat and listened and looked into the warm deep heart of the friendly fire. Dreams and hopes came back to him, as things once seen through a gla.s.s darkly, but now face to face. Without turning, he was conscious of Madeline, across the room, filling life with music.

When a small maid, as new as the books, appeared to announce dinner, he looked up startled.

"Shall we go?" asked Madeline, rising.

"To our own private particular family communion-table," he answered, drawing her arm through his.

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