“And no doubt he’ll succeed in destroying the pig in him before he grows up,” said Nancy, passing through the room.  “I thought it gobbled and snuffled a good deal when we last met!”

Colonel Wheeler was at Greentown station when the family arrived, and drove Mrs. Carey and Peter to the Yellow House himself, while the rest followed in the depot carryall, with a trail of trunks and packages following on behind in an express wagon.  It was a very early season, the roads were free from mud, the trees were budding, and the young grass showed green on all the sunny slopes.  When the Careys had first seen their future home they had entered the village from the west, the Yellow House being the last one on the elm-shaded street, and quite on the outskirts of Beulah itself.  Now they crossed the river below the station and drove through East Beulah, over a road unknown to any of them but Gilbert, who was the hero and instructor of the party.  Soon the well-remembered house came into view, and as the two vehicles had kept one behind the other there was a general cheer.

It was more beautiful even than they had remembered it; and more commodious, and more delightfully situated.  The barn door was open, showing crates of furniture, and the piazza was piled high with boxes.

Bill Harmon stood in the front doorway, smiling.  He hoped for trade, and he was a good sort anyway.

“I’d about given you up to-night,” he called as he came to the gate.  “Your train’s half an hour late.  I got tired o’ waitin’, so I made free to open up some o’ your things for you to start housekeepin’ with.  I guess there won’t be no supper here for you to-night.”

“We’ve got it with us,” said Nancy joyously, making acquaintance in an instant.

“You are forehanded, ain’t you!  That’s right!—­jump, you little pint o’ cider!” Bill said, holding out his arms to Peter.  Peter, carrying many small things too valuable to trust to others, jumped, as suggested, and gave his new friend an unexpected shower of bumps from hard substances concealed about his person.

“Land o’ Goshen, you’re loaded, hain’t you?” he inquired jocosely as he set Peter down on the ground.

The dazzling smile with which Peter greeted this supposed tribute converted Bill Harmon at once into a victim and slave.  Little did he know, as he carelessly stood there at the wagon wheel, that he was destined to bestow upon that small boy offerings from his stock for years to come.

He and Colonel Wheeler were speedily lifting things from the carryall, while the Careys walked up the pathway together, thrilling with the excitement of the moment.  Nancy breathed hard, flushed, and caught her mother’s hand.

“O Motherdy!” she said under her breath; “it’s all happening just as we dreamed it, and now that it’s really here it’s like—­it’s like—­a dedication,—­somehow.  Gilbert, don’t, dear!  Let mother step over the sill first and call us into the Yellow House!  I’ll lock the door again and give the key to her.”