A merry laugh outside announced somebody, and the door sprang open to the united attacks of Pero and Lucy.
"Anything from Harry?" was her question too, and she received the same answer.
And "Anything from Harry?" asked Charley, sauntering in with his hands in his pockets.
"These are done, Cicely," said Madam Passmore. "Take them hence, and fetch another tray; and bid Dolly, if any should come on such a wet day, to have a care that she brings them not hither, but into the drawing-room—unless, of course, it were Harry," she added in a doubtful tone.
"Oh dear, Mother!" exclaimed Isabella, who had gone to the window, "here is a coach coming up but now."
Lucy was at the window in a second.
"Well, who is coming out?" she soliloquized. "An old woman—at least, no—she's not old, but she's older than I am"—
"You don't say so!" commented Charley, incredulously.
"Have done, Charley!—and the fattest little yellow dog—oh, such a funny one!—and—why, 'tis Harry! and Celia! Celia herself!"
An announcement which sent the whole family to the door at different paces, Lucy heading them. Celia felt herself obliged to greet everybody at once. Lucy was clinging to her on one side, and Charley on the other; Madam Passmore was before her, and the Squire and Isabella met her at the parlor-door.