Mother Carey, her heart in her throat, felt anew the solemn nature of the undertaking.  It broke over her in waves, fresher, stronger, now that the actual moment had arrived, than it ever had done in prospect.  She took the last step upward, and standing in the doorway, trembling, said softly as she turned the key, “Come home, children!  Nancy!  Gilbert!  Kathleen!  Peter-bird!” They flocked in, all their laughter hushed by the new tone in her voice.  Nancy’s and Kitty’s arms encircled their mother’s waist.  Gilbert with sudden instinct took off his hat, and Peter, looking at his elder brother wonderingly, did the same.  There was a moment of silence; the kind of golden silence that is full to the brim of thoughts and prayers and memories and hopes and desires,—­so full of all these and other beautiful, quiet things that it makes speech seem poor and shabby; then Mother Carey turned, and the Yellow House was blessed.  Colonel Wheeler and Bill Harmon at the gate never even suspected that there had been a little service on the threshold, when they came up the pathway to see if there was anything more needed.

“I set up all the bedsteads and got the mattresses on ’em,” said Bill Harmon, “thinkin’ the sandman would come early to-night.”

“I never heard of anything so kind and neighborly!” cried Mrs. Carey gratefully.  “I thought we should have to go somewhere else to sleep.  Is it you who keeps the village store?”

“That’s me!” said Bill.

“Well, if you’ll be good enough to come back once more to-night with a little of everything, we’ll be very much obliged.  We have an oil stove, tea and coffee, tinned meats, bread and fruit; what we need most is butter, eggs, milk, and flour.  Gilbert, open the box of eatables, please; and, Nancy, unlock the trunk that has the bed linen in it.  We little thought we should find such friends here, did we?”

“I got your extension table into the dining-room,” said Bill, “and tried my best to find your dishes, but I didn’t make out, up to the time you got here.  Mebbe you marked ’em someway so’t you know which to unpack first?  I was only findin’ things that wan’t no present use, as I guess you’ll say when you see ’em on the dining table.”

They all followed him as he threw open the door, Nancy well in the front, as I fear was generally the case.  There, on the centre of the table stood You Dirty Boy rearing his crested head in triumph, and round him like the gate posts of a mausoleum stood the four black and white marble funeral urns.  Perfect and entire, without a flaw, they stood there, confronting Nancy.

“It is like them to be the first to greet us!” exclaimed Mrs. Carey, with an attempt at a smile, but there was not a sound from Kathleen or Nancy.  They stood rooted to the floor, gazing at the Curse of the House of Carey as if their eyes must deceive them.

“You look as though you didn’t expect to see them, girls!” said their mother, “but when did they ever fail us?—­Do you know, I have a courage at this moment that I never felt before?—­Beulah is so far from Buffalo that Cousin Ann cannot visit us often, and never without warning.  I should not like to offend her or hurt her feelings, but I think we’ll keep You Dirty Boy and the mantel ornaments in the attic for the present, or the barn chamber.  What do you say?”