It had grown quite dark by the time they arrived at Winter-street, where Caddy had been anxiously holding watch and ward in company with the servants who had been procured for them.  A bright light was burning in the entry as the coachman stopped at the door.

“This is No. 27,” said he, opening the door of the carriage, “shall I ring?”

“Yes, do,” replied Mr. Garie; but whilst he was endeavouring to open the gate of the little garden in front, Caddy, who had heard the carriage stop, bounded out to welcome them.  “This is Mr. Garie, I suppose,” said she, as he alighted.

“Yes, I am; and you, I suppose, are the daughter of Mr. Ellis?”

“Yes, sir; I’m sorry mother is not here to welcome you; she was here until very late last night expecting your arrival, and was here again this morning,” said Caddy, taking at the same time one of the little carpet bags.  “Give me the little girl, I can take care of her too,” she continued; and with little Em on one arm and the carpet bag on the other, she led the way into the house.

“We did not make up any fire,” said she, “the weather is very warm to us.  I don’t know how it may feel to you, though.”

“It is a little chilly,” replied Mrs. Garie, as she sat down upon the sofa, and looked round the room with a smile of pleasure, and added, “All this place wants, to make it the most bewitching of rooms, is a little fire.”

Caddy hurried the new servants from place to place remorselessly, and set them to prepare the table and get the things ready for tea.  She waylaid a party of labourers, who chanced to be coming that way, and hired them to carry all the luggage upstairs—­had the desired fire made—­mixed up some corn-bread, and had tea on the table in a twinkling.  They all ate very heartily, and Caddy was greatly praised for her activity.

“You are quite a housekeeper,” said Mrs. Garie to Caddy.  “Do you like it?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied.  “I see to the house at home almost entirely; mother and Esther are so much engaged in sewing, that they are glad enough to leave it in my hands, and I’d much rather do that than sew.”

“I hope,” said Mrs. Garie, “that your mother will permit you to remain with us until we get entirely settled.”

“I know she will,” confidently replied Caddy.  “She will be up here in the morning.  She will know you have arrived by my not having gone home this evening.”

The children had now fallen asleep with their heads in close proximity to their plates, and Mrs. Garie declared that she felt very much fatigued and slightly indisposed, and thought the sooner she retired the better it would be for her.  She accordingly went up to the room, which she had already seen and greatly admired, and was soon in the land of dreams.

As is always the case on such occasions, the children’s night-dresses could not be found.  Clarence was put to bed in one of his father’s shirts, in which he was almost lost, and little Em was temporarily accommodated with a calico short gown of Caddy’s, and, in default of a nightcap, had her head tied up in a Madras handkerchief, which gave her, when her back was turned, very much the air of an old Creole who had been by some mysterious means deprived of her due growth.