“Polly’s coming to-morrow, and Dulcie’s going to have the best dinner, Father!” she exclaimed. “And you can try my swing!”
“That is what I mean to do,” Captain Delfield said, and in a few moments Roxy bade him good-bye and ran downstairs for she was planning that her father’s first day downstairs should be a real celebration, and she was eager to talk it over with Grandma Miller, who listened approvingly.
“Grandma, I have a plan!” she said, following Mrs. Miller to the dairy, a square building of stone near the house. The dairy was always cool, even on these hot August days. Its floor was of stone, and there was a bubbling spring of cool water in one corner.
There were shelves on two sides of the dairy holding big blue and yellow bowls and shining tins filled with milk. There were two churns, that stood near the spring, and a broad stone shelf where Grandma worked the golden butter and stamped the squares with a beautiful rose.
Roxy always liked to visit the dairy, and to help Grandma make butter; but to-day as she sat down on the small three-legged stool in one corner of the room and watched her grandmother skimming the heavy yellow cream from the pans of milk her thoughts were not of butter.
“Grandma! I want to make an arch, a triumphal arch, for my father! I read about it in a story about George Washington. When heroes come back from war people put up triumphal arches, and my father is a hero,” declared Roxy.
“Why, I think that is a very good idea,” replied Grandmother, “and where do you want the arch?”
“In front of the porch,” replied Roxy, smiling happily that Grandma had so quickly agreed to her plan. “And I want to have it all green leaves, laurel and hazel branches, with yellow lilies mixed in; and I want Polly to sing when Father comes out on the porch!”
Grandma nodded approvingly and smiled at Roxy. “Your father will think he has won the war,” she said, “and I am glad you thought of so good a plan. You can ask Jacob to help you to-morrow morning, and you had best be up early so that the arch will be ready when your father comes down.”
“Oh, yes, Grandma, I will be up at daylight,” Roxy promised, and now started off to the brook to get branches of laurel for the arch. She was busy all the afternoon bringing armfuls of the shining green laurel, and graceful branches of hazel, and when she bade her father good-night she was more tired than she had been since the day of her walk to visit the Hinhams.