They stood together at the gate leading out into the road, and Mrs. Carey unwrapped the painting and poised it against the top of the gate.

Olive’s father looked at it for a moment and then said, “I am no judge of these things, technically or otherwise, but it certainly seems very creditable work for a girl of Olive’s age.”

“Oh, it is surely more than that!  My girl Nancy stands there in the flesh, though her face is hidden.  Look at the wind blowing, look at the delightful, the enchanting calf; above all look at the title!  Who in the world but a little genius could have composed that sketch, breathing youth in every inch of it,—­and called it ‘Young April’!  Oh!  Professor Lord, I am very bold, because your wife is not living, and it is women who oftenest see these budding tendencies in children; forgive me, but do cherish and develop this talent of Olive’s.”

The eyes the color of the blue velvet bonnet were turned full upon Henry Lord, Ph.D.  They swam in tears and the color came and went in her cheek; she was forty, but it was a lovely cheek still.

“I will think it over,” he replied with some embarrassment as he wrapped the picture again and handed it to her.  “Meantime I am certainly very much obliged to you.  You seem to have an uncommon knowledge of young people.  May I ask if you are, or have been, a teacher?” “Oh, no!” Mrs. Carey remarked with a smile, “I am just a mother,—­that’s all!  Good night.”

XXVII

THE CAREY HOUSEWARMING

The housewarming was at its height, and everybody agreed once in every ten minutes that it was probably the most beautiful party that had ever happened in the history of the world.

Water flowed freely through Cousin Ann’s expensive pipes, that had been buried so deep in their trenches that the winter frosts could not affect them.  Natty Harmon tried the kitchen pump secretly several times during the evening, for the water had to run up hill all the way from the well to the kitchen sink, and he believed this to be a continual miracle that might “give out” at any moment.  The stove in the cellar, always alluded to by Gilbert as the “young furnace,” had not yet been used, save by way of experiment, but it was believed to be a perfect success.  To-night there was no need of extra heat, and there were great ceremonies to be observed in lighting the fires on the hearthstones.  They began with the one in the family sitting room; Colonel Wheeler, Ralph Thurston, Mr. and Mrs. Bill Harmon with Natty and Rufus, Mr. and Mrs. Popham with Digby and Lallie Joy, all standing in admiring groups and thrilling with delight at the order of events.  Mother Carey sat by the fireplace; little Peter, fairly radiant with excitement, leaning against her knee and waiting for his own great moment, now close at hand.

“When ye come into a house, salute it; and if the house be worthy, let your peace come upon it.