“Go down to the big apple-tree in the corner of the meadow,” directed Donald, half under his breath, “and, look here! you had better take this with you,” dragging a steamer rug from the couch, and flinging it out after him, “and I'll come down just as soon as ever I can and let you know how things are going and then Donald drew the shutters noiselessly to and sped back to the lane at as tight a run as he had left it. All this was accomplished in less time than it takes to tell it, and Donald found the children still chatting with Chris in the lane. Chris, having instantly surmised the object of Donald's disappearance, determined that he should have all the time needed; and nothing was easier, under conditions that called naturally for so many explanations, than to engage the children in such an absorbing conversation on the spot as to make no move toward the cottage; but the ring of Donald's feet on the path was the signal that it was safe to lead the way in that direction.
“Well, you are glad to see a fellow,” said Harold, “to take to your heels and run in that fashion the moment you spied us.”
“There was something I suddenly remembered that I had to see to that very minute,” stammered Donald, shaking bands with Marie-Celeste and Harold at one and the same moment; “but you may just believe I'm glad to see you and the warmth of Donald's welcome fully atoned for the few moments of unexplained delay.
“Did you tell Granny they had come, Donald?” asked Chris, his face fairly beaming at the thought of being able to actually introduce Marie-Celeste to the dear old grandmother.
“No; I stopped for nothing more than I just had to,” said Donald honestly; but Mrs. Hartley, who had been busy in the kitchen wing of the little cottage, and had not heard the commotion in Ted's room, but had happened to catch sight of Donald's flying heels, had come out to see what the matter was.
“Why, you don't tell me this is Marie-Celeste?” she said, putting one hand on Marie-Celeste's shoulder and looking gladly down at the sunny, upturned face. “Why, do you know,” she said, shaking hands with Harold as she spoke, “you have succeeded, I am sure, in giving Chris the very best surprise in all his life.”
“That they have, Granny,” said Chris warmly; “and they're not going back till late this afternoon, and we're going to make a beautiful day of it.”
And a beautiful day of it they made; and early in the afternoon Marie-Celeste made something beautiful besides, quite on her own account—nothing else than the discovery which gives its name to this chapter, and which happened to be a beautiful discovery, because it was the means of making somebody take new heart and see things in general in a newer and truer light.
They had been together the entire morning—all the little household, with the exception of the gentleman who, Donald had explained, had met with the accident, and who had gone off for the day. Donald had previously whispered to Mrs. Hartley that Ted was down under the big apple-tree, not feeling much like talking or caring to meet their unexpected company. You see, Donald, having been taken so unreservedly into Ted's confidence, had turned into a thorough diplomat, and had determined to aid and abet his plans in every possible way. Indeed, from what he himself knew of Harold's intense nature, he felt very sure that it would be far wiser and safer that he should never know of all that had happened—not, at any rate, unless Ted, having had a chance to prove the strength of his new resolutions, chose some day himself to tell him. Harold was so proud and Ted was so proud they simply mustn't come together yet awhile if it could in any way be helped. But we must not let this little aside about Donald's attitude toward the whole affair take another moment of our thoughts, for more important and vastly more interesting matters are awaiting our attention.
Of course it goes without saying with those of us who have come to know Mrs. Hartley, that as regal a little dinner was served for the guests from Royal Windsor as the larder of the cottage could afford; but to Martha was due all the praise of actual performance. Mrs. Hartley simply took her knitting, and sat the entire morning right in the midst of the little party just outside the cottage-door.