"Well, I wouldn't go as far as that, Hapsie," remarked Bob, departing to harness. "If limburger's influence is as strong as its odor, it ought to affect any one."
Bob profited this time by his labors and position of coachman, for he was secure of meeting Margery. The others had to debate which were to go; it ended in Laura's going with the two younger children, and Happie's staying at home with her mother to welcome the traveler in the role of Daughter of the House.
In the glorious September sunset, through the delicious odor of the ripened wild grapes, Don Dolor brought Margery up the hill home. Happie sprang down the steps to greet her, and then stood still, not only to allow her mother her right of the first embrace, but because it seemed to her that after all it was a different Margery from the one who had happily, yet tearfully, bidden them good-bye more than two months before, whose pretty face now smiled gladly at them over the children's shoulders.
The quick perception of the change held Happie's flying feet, bringing a pang with it, but only for the briefest of seconds. As soon as her mother released her from her clinging embrace, Happie had Margery in her arms, and was crushing her dainty linen in a way that left no doubt of her joy in getting her sister back again.
Margery stood on the upper step of the Ark and looked around her, the sunset resting on her face. In her eyes there was a greater radiance of joy, and around her lips an expression of deeper sweetness than when she left them. Her voice thrilled with new music, though all that she said was: "Oh, it's good to be here again, and I am so glad to see you all!"
Miss Bradbury followed Mrs. Scollard's glance to Margery and nodded emphatically to her telegram, thus delivered, that she found her girl most good to look upon.
"I should be glad of a little, even the least notice from Happie; I should like to be considered some consequence in my own Ark," she said with deep pathos, as Happie tripped over her foot without knowing that she had done so.
Happie wheeled around with a laugh. "Oh, Aunt Keren," she cried, "you haven't blossomed into a lovely young lady since I last saw you, and I truly believe that Margery has!"
Margery had. Rosie saw it the instant that Margery entered the house, and put out her sea-browned hand to clasp faithful Rosie's hard one. Gretta saw it when she ran up after tea to add a word to the welcoming chorus, and even Mahlon—waxing something like alive since he had benefited by his wife's cooking—even Mahlon said: "Guess Margery's been looking 'round. She's woke up someway since she was 'way off wherever 'twas."
After the children had been tucked away for the night, Margery and Happie crept to their room where they could be together alone once more, looking out at the mountains. The whole world was flooded with the radiance of the harvest moon, and the mountains rose up in its light with the heavy shadows of their own peaks touching the dimmed stars, dark amid the glory of the white night.