CHAPTER XXII
The weather had changed. After rain a keen north wind curled the waters of the great lake into wreaths of foam, breaking against the terrace, and the old Scotch clock in the lower hall struck midnight as Mr. Herriott's carriage drew up before the open door of his house. When he stepped to the ground a wild uproar of rejoicing dogs greeted him, and it was some seconds before he could rid himself of caressing paws. He assisted Eglah out, and turning toward the light met Amos Lea.
"Why, old man! It was kind of you to sit up for us. You should be asleep in your bed. Here is Mrs. Herriott. You saw her one summer."
The gardener held out his rough, hard hand, and she laid hers in it.
"Welcome home, madam. I hope you will be good to the lad; he will always do right by you."
Mr. Herriott laughed as he led her up the stone steps.
"Amos, you can not lecture her as you do me."
The housekeeper and one of the maids came forward for wraps and satchels.
"Mrs. Orr, Mrs. Herriott is very tired. Did you receive my telegram from Carville?"
"Yes, sir; the blue room is in order; bath, fire, supper, everything all ready."