If Mother Carey had watched Gilbert during the next half-hour she would have been gratified, for every moment of the time he grew more and more into the likeness of the head of a family.  He looked at the cellar, at the shed, at the closets and cupboards all over the house, and at the fireplaces.  He “paced off” all the rooms and set down their proportions in his note-book; he even decided as to who should occupy each room, and for what purposes they should be used, his judgment in every case being thought ridiculous by the feminine portion of his family when they looked at his plans.  Then he locked the doors carefully with a fine sense of ownership and strolled away with many a backward look and thought at the yellow house.

At the station he sent a telegram to his mother.  Nancy had secretly given him thirty-five cents when he left home.  “I am hoarding for the Admiral’s Christmas present,” she whispered, “but it’s no use, I cannot endure the suspense about the house a moment longer than is necessary.  Just telegraph us yes or no, and we shall get the news four hours before your train arrives.  One can die several times in four hours, and I’m going to commit one last extravagance,—­at the Admiral’s expense!”

At three o’clock on Saturday afternoon a telegraph boy came through the gate and rang the front door bell.

“You go, Kitty, I haven’t the courage!” said Nancy, sitting down on the sofa heavily.  A moment later the two girls and Peter (who for once didn’t count) gazed at their mother breathlessly as she opened the envelope.  Her face lighted as she read aloud:—­

  “Victory perches on my banners.  Have accomplished all I went for. 
    GILBERT.”

“Hurrah!” cried both girls.  “The yellow house is the House of Carey forevermore.”

“Will Peter go too?” asked the youngest Carey eagerly, his nose quivering as it always did in excitement, when it became an animated question point.

“I should think he would,” exclaimed Kitty, clasping him in her arms.  “What would the yellow house be without Peter?”

“I wish Gilbert wouldn’t talk about his banners,” said Nancy critically, as she looked at the telegram over her mother’s shoulder.  “They’re not his banners at all, they’re ours,—­Carey banners; that’s what they are!”

Mother Carey had wished the same thing, but hoped that Nancy had not noticed the Gilbertian flaw in the telegram.

X

THE CAREYS’ FLITTING

The Charlestown house was now put immediately into the hands of several agents, for Mrs. Carey’s lease had still four years to run and she was naturally anxious to escape from this financial responsibility as soon as possible.  As a matter of fact only three days elapsed before she obtained a tenant, and the agent had easily secured an advance of a hundred dollars a year to the good, as Captain Carey had obtained a very favorable figure when he took the house.