John Dutcher put up his hand heartily.
"How do you do, sir?" His timid smile touched Mason, but there was something else in the man which made him return the hand-clasp.
"I am glad to see you, Mr. Dutcher," he said, and his tone was so genuine it brought a gush of tears to the daughter's eyes. Her lover understood her father after all.
"Won't you 'light out, sir?" continued John with elaborate hospitality.
"Well, yes, I think I will," said Mason, and Rose's spirits shook off their cowls.
Suddenly she heard every bird singing, the thrush in the poplar top, the catbirds in the willows, the robin on the lawn; the sun flooded the world with magical splendor. It was morning in the world and morning in her life, and her lover was walking up the path by her side.
It was splendid beyond belief to show him to his room, to bring him water and towels and to say from the doorway, with a smile:
"Breakfast is ready!"
The picture that she made lingered pleasantly on Mason's interior eye. She was so supple of form and so radiant of color, and so palpitant with timid joy.
She sat alone at the table when he came out. She explained as she showed him his seat, "Father and my aunt had breakfast long ago."