A lot of things happened that week. To begin with, some new people moved into the house opposite us, that has been empty for so long. It's a small house,—nurse says it used to be a stable, and was turned into a dwelling-house since she has lived here,—set quite a good way back from the street, and with a low stoop to one side and a piazza off that. A tall iron railing, with an ornamental gate, encloses a front yard in which are some forlorn-looking shrubs, a rosebush or two, and a couple of scraggy altheas. Workmen had been about the place for some time, putting everything in order, and of course we took the liveliest interest in all that went on, from the pruning of the shrubs to the carrying in of the furniture; and the day the new people moved in, Miss Marston could hardly keep us younger ones from the windows: indeed, for that matter, Nora was just as curious as we were, for all she talks about "vulgar curiosity." They came in a carriage, and there were three of them,—a tall, black-bearded man, a little, fragile-looking lady, and a tall, lanky boy, perhaps as old as Felix, with a rather nice face, who shouldered a satchel and the travelling-rugs, and brought up the rear of the procession to the house, with the end of a shawl trailing on the ground behind him.
Jack heard from Henderson—who has become his shadow—that the gentleman has something to do with a newspaper, and that the boy goes to college, and Phil saw him there the other day; but it wasn't until the following Sunday, nearly a week after, that we heard their name and who they were,—and that came by way of a grand surprise.
We were sitting round the schoolroom fire, talking and singing hymns, when the door opened, and who should come walking in but—Max Derwent! We were surprised; for though he'd written to say he was coming, we didn't expect it would be so soon. Dear old Max! we were delighted to see him, and I do believe he was just as glad to see us. But just at first we couldn't any of us say very much; dear mamma was with us when Max was here last!
After a while, though, that feeling wore away, and I tell you our tongues did fly! Max measured us all by the closet door, where he took our measurements before he went away, and he says we have grown wonderfully,—particularly Nannie. He was so surprised when he first saw her, that he just held her hands and looked at her, until Nannie said, "Why, Max, you haven't kissed me; aren't you glad to see me?" I think she felt a little hurt, for he'd kissed the rest of us,—even to Phil and Felix,—and Nannie and he used to be such good friends.
"Why, Nancy Lee," Max said, "you have grown such a tall young lady since I've been away, that I didn't know whether you'd still allow me the dear old privilege; indeed I will kiss you;" and with that he stooped,—Max is tall,—and kissed her on her forehead, just where the parting of her hair begins.
But Max couldn't get over her being so grown, for he kept on gazing and gazing at Nannie, and she did look sweet, sitting there in the firelight. Nora is very pretty,—her features are so regular; but Nannie has a dear face: her brown eyes are big and shining, and her hair is so thick and pretty; it's light brown, and little locks of it get loose and curl up round her forehead and ears, and when she talks and laughs I think she's every bit as pretty as Nora. Somehow there's a look about Nannie's face that makes you know you can trust her through and through; I tell you I'm awfully glad she's in the family; in fact, I don't know what we'd any of us do without her, from papa to Alan.
Well, we told Max every single thing that had happened—good, bad, and indifferent—since he went away, including, of course, about Phil's going to college, and Fee's not going, and about aunt Lindsay's present to Fee and Nannie,—all talking together, and as loud as we pleased (we always do with Max) until we came to the new people that had moved in across the way—and what do you suppose? Max knows them!
"They are the Ervengs," he said, "and the boy's name is Hilliard,—Hilliard Erveng. The father is a partner in a large Boston publishing house that has just opened an agency here, and I shouldn't wonder if Erveng were in charge of the agency by his taking a house in New York. That's the firm I thought would buy your father's book, if he'd only finish it; but from what he told me this afternoon, it's still a long way from completion." He glanced at Nannie as he spoke, and she nodded her head sadly. "I used to know Erveng; he was a classmate of mine," went on Max, thoughtfully, wrinkling up his eyebrows at the fire. "I wonder how it would do to rake up the acquaintance again, and bring him over unexpectedly to call on the professor,"—papa's friends all call him Professor Rose,—"and surprise him into showing Erveng the manuscript!"
"'THE BOY'S NAME IS HILLIARD ERVENG.'"