"Not with all you have planned to do," Roberta reminded him. "Think what it will mean to get it all in order."
"I do think what it will mean. Don't I, though! It will mean—shopping with my love, choosing rugs and furniture—and plates and cups, Robin—plates and cups to eat and drink from. The fun of that! Will you help us, Rufus?" He turned, laughing, to the young girl beside him. "Will you come and eat and drink from our plates and cups? Ah, but this is a great old world—yes? you three dear people! And I'm the happiest fellow in it!"
There seemed small doubt that there could be few happier, just then, as standing at the top of his own staircase and gazing down into the wide and empty hall toward the open door which led out upon the white-pillared portico of his home-that-was-to-be, Richard Kendrick flung up one arm, lifting an imaginary cup high in the air, and calling joyously:
"Here's hoping!"
CHAPTER XXV
A STOUT LITTLE CABIN
Christmas morning! and the bells in St. Luke's pealing the great old hymn, dear for scores of years to those who had heard it chiming from the ivy-grown towers—"Adeste, Fideles."
"Oh, come, all ye faithful, joyful and triumphant!"
Joyful and triumphant, indeed, though yet subdued and humble, since this paradox may be at times in human hearts, was Richard Kendrick, as he stood waiting in the vestibule of St. Luke's, on Christmas morning, for a tryst he had made. Not with Roberta, for it was not possible for her to be present to-day, but with Ruth Gray, that young sister who had become so like a sister by blood to Richard that, at her suggestion, it had seemed to him the happiest thing in the world to go to church with her on Christmas morning—the morning of the day which was to see his marriage.
The Gray homestead was full of wedding guests, the usual family guests of the Christmas house-party. On the evening before had occurred the Christmas dance, and Richard had led the festivities, with his bride-elect at his side. It had been a glorious merry-making and his pulses had thrilled wildly to the rapture of it. But to-day—to-day was another story.