"It is so good to be home again! I wonder how we ever made up
our minds to go away!" exclaimed Rose as she went roaming about
the old house next morning, full of the satisfaction one feels at
revisiting familiar nooks and corners and finding them unchanged.
"That we might have the pleasure of coming back again,"
answered Phebe, walking down the hall beside her little mistress,
as happy as she.
"Everything seems just as we left it, even to the rose leaves we
used to tuck in here," continued the younger girl, peeping into one
of the tall India jars that stood about the hall.
"Don’t you remember how Jamie and Pokey used to play Forty
Thieves with them, and how you tried to get into that blue one and
got stuck, and the other boys found us before I could pull you out?"
asked Phebe, laughing.
"Yes, indeed, and speaking of angels, one is apt to hear the rustling
of their wings," added Rose, as a shrill whistle came up the avenue
accompanied by the clatter of hoofs.
"It is the circus!" cried Phebe gaily as they both recalled the red
cart and the charge of the clan.
There was only one boy now, alas, but he made noise enough for
half a dozen, and before Rose could run to the door, Jamie came
bouncing in with a "shining morning face," a bat over his shoulder,
a red and white jockey cap on his head, one pocket bulging with a
big ball, the other overflowing with cookies, and his mouth full of
the apple he was just finishing off in hot haste.
"Morning! I just looked in to make sure you’d really come and see
that you were all right," he observed, saluting with bat and doffing
the gay cap with one effective twitch.
"Good morning, dear. Yes, we really are here, and getting to rights
as fast as possible. But it seems to me you are rather gorgeous,
Jamie. What do you belong to a fire company or a jockey club?"
asked Rose, turning up the once chubby face, which now was
getting brown and square about the chin.
"No, ma’am! Why, don’t you know? I’m captain of the Base Ball
Star Club. Look at that, will you?" And, as if the fact were one of
national importance, Jamie flung open his jacket to display upon
his proudly swelling chest an heart-shaped red flannel shield
decorated with a white cotton star the size of a tea plate.
"Superb! I’ve been away so long I forgot there was such a game.
And you the captain?" cried Rose, deeply impressed by the high
honor to which her kinsman had arrived.
"I just am, and it’s no joke you’d better believe, for we knock our
teeth out, black our eyes, and split our fingers almost as well as the
big fellows. You come down to the Common between one and two
and see us play a match, then you’ll understand what hard work it
is. I’ll teach you to bat now if you’ll come out on the lawn," added
Jamie, fired with a wish to exhibit his prowess.
"No, thank you, captain. The grass is wet, and you’ll be late at
school if you stay for us."
"I’m not afraid. Girls are not good for much generally, but you
never used to mind a little wet and played cricket like a good one.
Can’t you ever do that sort of thing now?" asked the boy, with a
pitying look at these hapless creatures debarred from the joys and
perils of manly sports.
"I can run still and I’ll get to the gate before you, see if I don’t."
And, yielding to the impulse of the moment, Rose darted down the
steps before astonished Jamie could mount and follow.
He was off in a moment, but Rose had the start, and though old
Sheltie did his best, she reached the goal just ahead, and stood
there laughing and panting, all rosy with fresh October air, a pretty
picture for several gentlemen who were driving by.
"Good for you, Rose!" said Archie, jumping out to shake hands
while Will and Geordie saluted and Uncle Mac laughed at Jamie,
who looked as if girls had risen slightly in his opinion.
"I’m glad it is you, because you won’t be shocked. But I’m so happy
to be back I forgot I was not little Rose still," said Atalanta,
smoothing down her flying hair.
"You look very like her, with the curls on your shoulders in the old
way. I missed them last night and wondered what it was. How are
Uncle and Phebe?" asked Archie, whose eyes had been looking
over Rose’s head while he spoke toward the piazza, where a female
figure was visible among the reddening woodbines.
"All well, thanks. Won’t you come up and see for yourselves?"
"Can’t, my dear, can’t possibly. Business, you know, business. This
fellow is my right-hand man, and I can’t spare him a minute.
Come, Arch, we must be off, or these boys will miss their train,"
answered Uncle Mac, pulling out his watch.
With a last look from the light-haired figure at the gate to the
dark-haired one among the vines, Archie drove away and Jamie
cantered after, consoling himself for his defeat with apple number
Rose lingered a moment, feeling much inclined to continue her run
and pop in upon all the aunts in succession, but, remembering her
uncovered head, was about to turn back when a cheerful "Ahoy!
ahoy!" made her look up to see Mac approaching at a great pace,
waving his hat as he came.
"The Campbells are coming, thick and fast this morning, and the
more the merrier," she said, running to meet him. "You look like a
good boy going to school, and virtuously conning your lesson by
the way," she added, smiling to see him take his finger out of the
book he had evidently been reading, and tuck it under his arm, just
as he used to do years ago.
"I am a schoolboy, going to the school I like best," he answered,
waving a plumy spray of asters as if pointing out the lovely autumn
world about them, full of gay hues, fresh airs, and mellow
"That reminds me that I didn’t get a chance to hear much about
your plans last night the other boys all talked at once, and you only
got a word now and then. What have you decided to be, Mac?"
asked Rose as they went up the avenue side by side.
"A man first, and a good one if possible. After that, what God
Something in the tone, as well as the words, made Rose look up
quickly into Mac’s face to see a new expression there. It was
indescribable, but she felt as she had often done when watching
the mists part suddenly, giving glimpses of some mountaintop,
shining serene and high against the blue.
"I think you will be something splendid, for you really look quite
glorified, walking under this arch of yellow leaves with the
sunshine on your face," she exclaimed, conscious of a sudden
admiration never felt before, for Mac was the plainest of all the
"I don’t know about that, but I have my dreams and aspirations,
and some of them are pretty high ones. Aim at the best, you know,
and keep climbing if you want to get on," he said, looking at the
asters with an inward sort of smile, as if he and they had some
sweet secret between them.
"You are queerer than ever. But I like your ambition, and hope you
will get on. Only mustn’t you begin at something soon? I fancied
you would study medicine with Uncle that used to be our plan, you
"I shall, for the present at least, because I quite agree with you that
it is necessary to have an anchor somewhere and not go floating
off into the world of imagination without ballast of the right sort.
Uncle and I had some talk about it last night and I’m going to begin
as soon as possible, for I’ve mooned long enough," and giving
himself a shake, Mac threw down the pretty spray, adding half
"Chide me not, laborious band,
For the idle flowers I brought:
Every aster in my hand
Goes home laden with a thought."
Rose caught the words and smiled, thinking to herself, "Oh, that’s
it he is getting into the sentimental age and Aunt Jane has been
lecturing him. Dear me, how we are growing up!"
"You look as if you didn’t like the prospect very well," she said
aloud, for Mac had rammed the volume of Shelley into his pocket
and the glorified expression was so entirely gone, Rose fancied she
had been mistaken about the mountaintop behind the mists.
"Yes, well enough I always thought the profession a grand one,
and where could I find a better teacher than Uncle? I’ve got into
lazy ways lately, and it is high time I went at something useful, so
here I go," and Mac abruptly vanished into the study while Rose
joined Phebe in Aunt Plenty’s room.
The dear old lady had just decided, after long and earnest
discussion, which of six favorite puddings should be served for
dinner, and thus had a few moments to devote to sentiment, so
when Rose came in she held out her arms, saying fondly: "I shall
not feel as if I’d got my child back again until I have her in my lap
a minute. No, you’re not a bit too heavy, my rheumatism doesn’t
begin much before November, so sit here, darling, and put your
two arms round my neck."
Rose obeyed, and neither spoke for a moment as the old woman
held the young one close and appeased the two years’ longing of a
motherly heart by the caresses women give the creatures dearest to
them. Right in the middle of a kiss, however, she stopped suddenly
and, holding out one arm, caught Phebe, who was trying to steal
"Don’t go there’s room for both in my love, though there isn’t in my
lap. I’m so grateful to get my dear girls safely home again that I
hardly know what I’m about," said Aunt Plenty, embracing Phebe
so heartily that she could not feel left out in the cold and stood
there with her black eyes shining through the happiest tears.
"There, now I’ve had a good hug, and feel as if I was all right
again. I wish you’d set that cap in order, Rose I went to bed in such
a hurry, I pulled the strings off it and left it all in a heap. Phebe,
dear, you shall dust round a mite, just as you used to, for I haven’t
had anyone to do it as I like since you’ve been gone, and it will do
me good to see all my knickknacks straightened out in your tidy
way," said the elder lady, getting up with a refreshed expression on
her rosy old face.
"Shall I dust in here too?" asked Phebe, glancing toward an inner
room which used to be her care.
"No, dear, I’d rather do that myself. Go in if you like, nothing is
changed. I must go and see to my pudding." And Aunt Plenty
trotted abruptly away with a quiver of emotion in her voice which
made even her last words pathetic.
Pausing on the threshold as if it was a sacred place, the girls
looked in with eyes soon dimmed by tender tears, for it seemed as
if the gentle occupant was still there. Sunshine shone on the old
geraniums by the window; the cushioned chair stood in its
accustomed place, with the white wrapper hung across it and the
faded slippers lying ready. Books and basket, knitting and
spectacles, were all just as she had left them, and the beautiful
tranquility that always filled the room seemed so natural, both
lookers turned involuntarily toward the bed, where Aunt Peace
used to greet them with a smile. There was no sweet old face upon
the pillow now, yet the tears that wet the blooming cheeks were
not for her who had gone, but for her who was left, because they
saw something which spoke eloquently of the love which outlives
death and makes the humblest things beautiful and sacred.
A well-worn footstool stood beside the bed, and in the high-piled
whiteness of the empty couch there was a little hollow where a
gray head nightly rested while Aunt Plenty said the prayers her
mother taught her seventy years ago.
Without a word, the girls softly shut the door. And while Phebe put
the room in the most exquisite order, Rose retrimmed the plain
white cap, where pink and yellow ribbons never rustled now, both
feeling honored by their tasks and better for their knowledge of the
faithful love and piety which sanctified a good old woman’s life.
"You darling creature, I’m so glad to get you back! I know it’s
shamefully early, but I really couldn’t keep away another minute.
Let me help you I’m dying to see all your splendid things. I saw the
trunks pass and I know you’ve quantities of treasures," cried
Annabel Bliss all in one breath as she embraced Rose an hour later
and glanced about the room bestrewn with a variety of agreeable
"How well you are looking! Sit down and I’ll show you my lovely
photographs. Uncle chose all the best for me, and it’s a treat to see
them," answered Rose, putting a roll on the table and looking
about for more.
"Oh, thanks! I haven’t time now one needs hours to study such
things. Show me your Paris dresses, there’s a dear I’m perfectly
aching to see the last styles," and Annabel cast a hungry eye
toward certain large boxes delightfully suggestive of French finery.
"I haven’t got any," said Rose, fondly surveying the fine
photographs as she laid them away.
"Rose Campbell! You don’t mean to say that you didn’t get one
Paris dress at least?" cried Annabel, scandalized at the bare idea of
"Not one for myself. Aunt Clara ordered several, and will be
charmed to show them when her box comes."
"Such a chance! Right there and plenty of money! How could you
love your uncle after such cruelty?" sighed Annabel, with a face
full of sympathy.
Rose looked puzzled for a minute, then seemed to understand, and
assumed a superior air which became her very well as she said,
good-naturedly opening a box of laces, "Uncle did not forbid my
doing it, and I had money enough, but I chose not to spend it on
things of that sort."
"Could and didn’t! I can’t believe it!" And Annabel sank into a
chair, as if the thought was too much for her.
"I did rather want to at first, just for the fun of the thing. In fact, I
went and looked at some amazing gowns. But they were very
expensive, very much trimmed, and not my style at all, so I gave
them up and kept what I valued more than all the gowns Worth
"What in the world was it?" cried Annabel, hoping she would say
"Uncle’s good opinion," answered Rose, looking thoughtfully into
the depths of a packing case, where lay the lovely picture that
would always remind her of the little triumph over girlish vanity,
which not only kept but increased "Uncle’s good opinion."
"Oh, indeed!" said Annabel blankly, and fell to examining Aunt
Plenty’s lace while Rose went on with a happy smile in her eyes as
she dived into another trunk.
"Uncle thinks one has no right to waste money on such things, but
he is very generous and loves to give useful, beautiful, or curious
gifts. See, all these pretty ornaments are for presents, and you shall
choose first whatever you like."
"He’s a perfect dear!" cried Annabel, reveling in the crystal,
filigree, coral, and mosaic trinkets spread before her while Rose
completed her rapture by adding sundry tasteful trifles fresh from
"Now tell me, when do you mean to have your coming-out party? I
ask because I’ve nothing ready and want plenty of time, for I
suppose it will be the event of the season," asked Annabel a few
minutes later as she wavered between a pink coral and a blue lava
"I came out when I went to Europe, but I suppose Aunty Plen will
want to have some sort of merry-making to celebrate our return. I
shall begin as I mean to go on, and have a simple, sociable sort of
party and invite everyone whom I like, no matter in what ‘set’ they
happen to belong. No one shall ever say I am aristocratic and
exclusive so prepare yourself to be shocked, for old friends and
young, rich and poor, will be asked to all my parties."
"Oh, my heart! You are going to be odd, just as Mama predicted!"
sighed Annabel, clasping her hands in despair and studying the
effect of three bracelets on her chubby arm in the midst of her
"In my own house I’m going to do as I think best, and if people call
me odd, I can’t help it. I shall endeavor not to do anything very
dreadful, but I seem to inherit Uncle’s love for experiments and
mean to try some. I daresay they will fail and I shall get laughed at.
I intend to do it nevertheless, so you had better drop me now
before I begin," said Rose with an air of resolution that was rather
"What shall you wear at this new sort of party of yours?" asked
Annabel, wisely turning a deaf ear to all delicate or dangerous
topics and keeping to matters she understood.
"That white thing over there. It is fresh and pretty, and Phebe has
one like it. I never want to dress more than she does, and gowns of
that sort are always most becoming and appropriate to girls of our
"Phebe! You don’t mean to say you are going to make a lady of
her!" gasped Annabel, upsetting her treasures as she fell back with
a gesture that made the little chair creak again, for Miss Bliss was
as plump as a partridge.
"She is one already, and anybody who slights her slights me, for
she is the best girl I know and the dearest," cried Rose warmly.
"Yes, of course I was only surprised you are quite right, for she
may turn out to be somebody, and then how glad you’ll feel that
you were so good to her!" said Annabel, veering around at once,
seeing which way the wind blew.
Before Rose could speak again, a cheery voice called from the
hall, "Little mistress, where are you?"
"In my room, Phebe, dear," and up came the girl Rose was going to
"make a lady of," looking so like one that Annabel opened her
china-blue eyes and smiled involuntarily as Phebe dropped a little
curtsey in playful imitation of her old manner and said quietly:
"How do you do, Miss Bliss?"
"Glad to see you back, Miss Moore," answered Annabel, shaking
hands in a way that settled the question of Phebe’s place in her
mind forever, for the stout damsel had a kind heart in spite of a
weak head and was really fond of Rose. It was evidently "Love me,
love my Phebe," so she made up her mind on the spot that Phebe
was somebody, and that gave an air of romance even to the
She could not help staring a little as she watched the two friends
work together and listened to their happy talk over each new
treasure as it came to light, for every look and word plainly
showed that years of close companionship had made them very
dear to one another. It was pretty to see Rose try to do the hardest
part of any little job herself still prettier to see Phebe circumvent
her and untie the hard knots, fold the stiff papers, or lift the heavy
trays with her own strong hands, and prettiest of all to hear her say
in a motherly tone, as she put Rose into an easy chair: "Now, my
deary, sit and rest, for you will have to see company all day, and I
can’t let you get tired out so early."
"That is no reason why I should let you either. Call Jane to help or
I’ll bob up again directly," answered Rose, with a very bad
assumption of authority.
"Jane may take my place downstairs, but no one shall wait on you
here except me, as long as I’m with you," said stately Phebe,
stooping to put a hassock under the feet of her little mistress.
"It is very nice and pretty to see, but I don’t know what people will
say when she goes into society with the rest of us. I do hope Rose
won’t be very odd," said Annabel to herself as she went away to
circulate the depressing news that there was to be no grand ball
and, saddest disappointment of all, that Rose had not a single Paris
costume with which to refresh the eyes and rouse the envy of her
"Now I’ve seen or heard from all the boys but Charlie, and I
suppose he is too busy. I wonder what he is about," thought Rose,
turning from the hall door, whither she had courteously
accompanied her guest.
The wish was granted a moment after, for, going into the parlor to
decide where some of her pictures should hang, she saw a pair of
brown boots at one end of the sofa, a tawny-brown head at the
other, and discovered that Charlie was busily occupied in doing
"The voice of the Bliss was heard in the land, so I dodged till she
went upstairs, and then took a brief siesta while waiting to pay my
respects to the distinguished traveler, Lady Hester Stanhope," he
said, leaping up to make his best bow.
"The voice of the sluggard would be a more appropriate quotation,
I think. Does Annabel still pine for you?" asked Rose, recalling
certain youthful jokes upon the subject of unrequited affections.
"Not a bit of it. Fun has cut me out, and the fair Annabella will be
Mrs. Tokio before the winter is over if I’m not much mistaken."
"What, little Fun See? How droll it seems to think of him grown up
and married to Annabel of all people! She never said a word about
him, but this accounts for her admiring my pretty Chinese things
and being so interested in Canton."
"Little Fun is a great swell now, and much enamored of our fat
friend, who will take to chopsticks whenever he says the word. I
needn’t ask how you do, Cousin, for you beat that Aurora all
hollow in the way of color. I should have been up before, but I
thought you’d like a good rest after your voyage."
"I was running a race with Jamie before nine o’clock. What were
you doing, young man?"
"’Sleeping I dreamed, love, dreamed, love, of thee,’" began
Charlie, but Rose cut him short by saying as reproachfully as she
could, while the culprit stood regarding her with placid
satisfaction: "You ought to have been up and at work like the rest
of the boys. I felt like a drone in a hive of very busy bees when I
saw them all hurrying off to their business."
"But, my dear girl, I’ve got no business. I’m making up my mind,
you see, and do the ornamental while I’m deciding. There always
ought to be one gentleman in a family, and that seems to be rather
my line," answered Charlie, posing for the character with an
assumption of languid elegance which would have been very
effective if his twinkling eyes had not spoilt it.
"There are none but gentlemen in our family, I hope," answered
Rose, with the proud air she always wore when anything was said
derogatory to the name of Campbell.
"Of course, of course. I should have said gentleman of leisure. You
see it is against my principles to slave as Archie does. What’s the
use? Don’t need the money, got plenty, so why not enjoy it and
keep jolly as long as possible? I’m sure cheerful people are public
benefactors in this world of woe."
It was not easy to object to this proposition, especially when made
by a comely young man who looked the picture of health and
happiness as he sat on the arm of the sofa smiling at his cousin in
the most engaging manner. Rose knew very well that the
Epicurean philosophy was not the true one to begin life upon, but
it was difficult to reason with Charlie because he always dodged
sober subjects and was so full of cheery spirits, one hated to lessen
the sort of sunshine which certainly is a public benefactor.
"You have such a clever way of putting things that I don’t know
how to contradict you, though I still think I’m right," she said
gravely. "Mac likes to idle as well as you, but he is not going to do
it because he knows it’s bad for him to fritter away his time. He is
going to study a profession like a wise boy, though he would much
prefer to live among his beloved books or ride his hobbies in
"That’s all very well for him, because he doesn’t care for society
and may as well be studying medicine as philandering about the
woods with his pockets full of musty philosophers and
old-fashioned poets," answered Charlie with a shrug which plainly
expressed his opinion of Mac.
"I wonder if musty philosophers, like Socrates and Aristotle, and
old-fashioned poets, like Shakespeare and Milton, are not safer
company for him to keep than some of the more modern friends
you have?" said Rose, remembering Jamie’s hints about wild oats,
for she could be a little sharp sometimes and had not lectured "the
boys" for so long it seemed unusually pleasant.
But Charlie changed the subject skillfully by exclaiming with an
anxious expression: "I do believe you are going to be like Aunt
Jane, for that’s just the way she comes down on me whenever she
gets the chance! Don’t take her for a model, I beg she is a good
woman but a mighty disagreeable one in my humble opinion."
The fear of being disagreeable is a great bugbear to a girl, as this
artful young man well knew, and Rose fell into the trap at once,
for Aunt Jane was far from being her model, though she could not
help respecting her worth.
"Have you given up your painting?" she asked rather abruptly,
turning to a gilded Fra Angelico angel which leaned in the sofa
"Sweetest face I ever saw, and very like you about the eyes, isn’t
it?" said Charlie, who seemed to have a Yankee trick of replying to
one question with another.
"I want an answer, not a compliment," and Rose tried to look
severe as she put away the picture more quickly than she had taken
"Have I given up painting? Oh, no! I daub a little in oils, slop a
little in watercolors, sketch now and then, and poke about the
studios when the artistic fit comes on."
"How is the music?"
"More flourishing. I don’t practice much, but sing a good deal in
company. Set up a guitar last summer and went troubadouring
round in great style. The girls like it, and it’s jolly among the
"Are you studying anything?"
"Well, I have some lawbooks on my table good, big, wise-looking
chaps and I take a turn at them semioccasionally when pleasure
palls or parents chide. But I doubt if I do more than learn what ‘a
allybi’ is this year," and a sly laugh in Charlie’s eye suggested that
he sometimes availed himself of this bit of legal knowledge.
"What do you do then?"
"Fair catechist, I enjoy myself. Private theatricals have been the
rage of late, and I have won such laurels that I seriously think of
adopting the stage as my profession."
"Really!" cried Rose, alarmed.
"Why not? If I must go to work, isn’t that as good as anything?"
"Not without more talent than I think you possess. With genius one
can do anything without it one had better let the stage alone."
"There’s a quencher for the ‘star of the goodlie companie’ to which
I belong. Mac hasn’t a ray of genius for anything, yet you admire
him for trying to be an M.D.," cried Charlie, rather nettled at her
"It is respectable, at all events, and I’d rather be a second-rate
doctor than a second-rate actor. But I know you don’t mean it, and
only say so to frighten me."
"Exactly. I always bring it up when anyone begins to lecture and it
works wonders. Uncle Mac turns pale, the aunts hold up their
hands in holy horror, and a general panic ensues. Then I
magnanimously promise not to disgrace the family and in the first
burst of gratitude the dear souls agree to everything I ask, so peace
is restored and I go on my way rejoicing."
"Just the way you used to threaten to run off to sea if your mother
objected to any of your whims. You are not changed in that
respect, though you are in others. You had great plans and projects
once, Charlie, and now you seem to be contented with being a
‘jack of all trades and master of none’".
"Boyish nonsense! Time has brought wisdom, and I don’t see the
sense of tying myself down to one particular thing and grinding
away at it year after year. People of one idea get so deucedly
narrow and tame, I’ve no patience with them. Culture is the thing,
and the sort one gets by ranging over a wide field is the easiest to
acquire, the handiest to have, and the most successful in the end.
At any rate, it is the kind I like and the only kind I intend to bother
With this declaration, Charlie smoothed his brow, clasped his
hands over his head, and, leaning back, gently warbled the chorus
of a college song as if it expressed his views of life better than he
"While our rosy fillets shed
Blushes o’er each fervid head,
With many a cup and many a smile
The festal moments we beguile."
"Some of my saints here were people of one idea, and though they
were not very successful from a worldly point of view while alive,
they were loved and canonized when dead," said Rose, who had
been turning over a pile of photographs on the table and just then
found her favorite, St. Francis, among them.
"This is more to my taste. Those worn-out, cadaverous fellows
give me the blues, but here’s a gentlemanly saint who takes things
easy and does good as he goes along without howling over his own
sins or making other people miserable by telling them of theirs."
And Charlie laid a handsome St. Martin beside the brown-frocked
Rose looked at both and understood why her cousin preferred the
soldierly figure with the sword to the ascetic with his crucifix. One
was riding bravely through the world in purple and fine linen, with
horse and hound and squires at his back; and the other was in a
lazar-house, praying over the dead and dying. The contrast was a
strong one, and the girl’s eyes lingered longest on the knight,
though she said thoughtfully, "Yours is certainly the pleasantest
and yet I never heard of any good deed he did, except divide his
cloak with a beggar, while St. Francis gave himself to charity just
when life was most tempting and spent years working for God
without reward. He’s old and poor, and in a dreadful place, but I
won’t give him up, and you may have your gay St. Martin if you
"No, thank you, saints are not in my line but I’d like the
golden-haired angel in the blue gown if you’ll let me have her. She
shall be my little Madonna, and I’ll pray to her like a good
Catholic," answered Charlie, turning to the delicate, deep-eyed
figure with the lilies in its hand.
"With all my heart, and any others that you like. Choose some for
your mother and give them to her with my love."
So Charlie sat down beside Rose to turn and talk over the pictures
for a long and pleasant hour. But when they went away to lunch, if
there had been anyone to observe so small but significant a trifle,
good St. Francis lay face downward behind the sofa, while gallant
St. Martin stood erect upon the chimneypiece.