"Home again," said Andrew Churchill, as he set his latch-key in the door of the brick house four days later. "Fieldsy must be away, or she would have answered."
They hurried through the house. It was in absolute order, but empty. On the office desk was a note in the housekeeper's awkward hand:
"If you should come to-night, I've had to go to take care of a sick woman, will be back in the morning, you will find everything cooked up."
Doctor Churchill read it with a laugh. "Charlotte, we're actually alone in our own house. Let's run over to the other house and embrace them all round, and then come back and see how it feels over here."
So they went across the lawn.
"We shall be delighted to have you stay with us, my dears," said Mrs. Birch, after the greetings.
"Mother Birch," said her son-in-law, with air affectionate hand on her shoulder, "not even you can charm us out of our own house to-night. Do you know that we're all alone--that not even Fieldsy is over there? Charlotte's going to get dinner, and I'm to help her with the clearing up, and then we're going to sit on our porch. Of course we shall be constantly looking down the street for a messenger boy with a telegram announcing the coming of our next guest, but until he comes--"
Everybody laughed at the expressive breath he drew.
"Go, you dear children," said Mrs. Birch, and the rest joined in warmly.
"I'll sit on our doorstone with a rifle, and pick off the visitors as they come up the street!" cried Just, as the two went off.