On the whole this verdict was favorable, and the Doctor returned to Sleepy Hollow with a considerable weight lifted from his mind. As the train bore him homeward through the mellow, ripened country with the autumn colors glorifying the landscape, and a rich sunlight casting a glow over everything, his heart felt peaceful. Even with the better part of him gone away for ever, he could look forward with pleasure to the greeting of his children, and find much consolation in the love of their young hearts.
“After all, there never were girls quite like Helen and Polly,” he said to himself. “They both in their own way take after their mother. Helen has got that calm which was always so refreshing and restful in her mother; and that little scapegrace of a Polly inherits a good deal of her brilliancy. I wonder how the little puss has managed the housekeeping. By the way, her week is up to-day, and we return to Nell’s and Mrs. Power’s steadier regime. Poor Poll, it was shabby of me to desert the family during the end of Indigestion week, but doubtless matters have gone fairly well. Nurse has all her medicine bottles replenished, so that in case of need she knew what to do. Poor Poll, she really made an excellent cake for my supper the last evening I was at home.”
The carriage rolled down the avenue, and the Doctor alighted on his own doorsteps; as he did so he looked round with a pleased and expectant smile on his face. It was six o’clock, and the evenings were drawing in quickly; the children might be indoors, but it seemed scarcely probable. The little Maybrights were not addicted to indoor life, and as a rule their gay, shrill voices might have been heard echoing all over the old place long after sunset. Not so this evening; the place was almost too still; there was no rush of eager steps in the hall, and no clamor of gay little voices without.
Dr. Maybright felt a slight chill; he could not account for it. The carriage turned and rolled away, and he quickly entered the house.
“Polly, where are you? Nell, Firefly, Bunny,” he shouted.
Still there was no response, unless, indeed, the rustling of a silk dress in the drawing-room, a somewhat subdued and half-nervous cough, and the unpleasant yelping of a small dog could have been construed into one.
“Have my entire family emigrated? And is Sleepy Hollow let to strangers?” murmured the Doctor.
He turned in the direction of the rustle, the cough, and the bark, and found himself suddenly in the voluminous embrace of his sister-in-law, Mrs. Cameron.
“My dear Andrew, I am pleased to see you. You have been in the deep waters of affliction, and if in my power I would have come to you sooner. I had rheumatism and a natural antipathy to solitude. Still I made the effort, although a damper or more lonely spot would be hard to find. I don’t wonder at my poor sister’s demise. I got your letter, Andrew, and it was really in reply to it that I am here. Down, Scorpion; the dog will be all right in a moment or two, my dear brother, he is only smelling your trousers.”
“He has a very marked way of doing so,” responded the Doctor, “as I distinctly feel his teeth. Allow me, Maria, to put this little animal outside the window—a dog’s bite given even in play is not the most desirable acquisition. Well, Maria, your visit astonishes me very much. Welcome to Sleepy Hollow. Did you arrive to-day? How did you find the children?”