“A doll?” asked the nurse in bewilderment, and pausing in act of kissing her recovered charge, not with the rapturous abandonment of the Irish woman, but with the respectful tenderness of a trained English servant.

“She named a doll after you, Mrs. Ginniss says, although she did not remember who you really were,” explained Mrs. Legrange.  “But come, my friends:  we will not wait longer out of doors.  Dora, you and Kitty know the way even better than I; and Mr. Windsor”—­

“It isn’t Mr. Windsor, it’s Karlo, mamma,” persisted Sunshine, dancing up the narrow path in advance of the party.

“Yes, Karl, if you will be so kind,” said Dr. Windsor, offering Mrs. Legrange his arm.

“Then Karl will feel himself as much at home here as he ever did, I trust,” said the lady cordially.

“It was peeping out at that window I saw you first, Dora; and I thought it must be the sunrise,” whispered Tom Burroughs to the lady he escorted.

“I am sorry I should have so put you out of countenance.  Perhaps that is the reason you never have seen straight since,—­so far as I am concerned at least,” replied she.

“One does not care to look straight at the sun:  it is sufficient to bask in its light,” whispered the lover.

“Oh! very well, if that is what you want—­Here, Sunshine!  Cousin Tom wants you.”

The little girl came bounding toward them; and Dora, with a wicked little laugh, slipped away, and up the stairs, to the room that had been Kitty’s, now appropriated to the use of the two young girls.

Soon the happy party assembled again in the kitchen, where stood a tea-table judiciously combining the generous breadth of Mrs. Ginniss’s ideas with the more elegant and subdued tastes inculcated upon Susan by a long period of service with her present mistress.

“Mind you tell ’em there’s more beyant, on’y you wouldn’t set it on all to wonst,” whispered the Irish woman hoarsely, as she rushed into the scullery, leaving Susan to receive the guests just entering the kitchen.

“Mrs. Ginniss thought we should arrive with appetites, I suspect,” said the hostess, laughing a little apologetically as they seated themselves; and Susan did not think it best to deliver her message.

“And so we have, some of us at least; and I do not believe even the ladies will refuse a bit of this nice tongue, or some cold chicken.  What do you say, Dora?” asked Mr. Legrange gayly.

“No tongue for her, please; she is supplied,” remarked Mr. Burroughs sotto voce; and Dora, with a little mutinous glance, passed her plate with,—­

“A slice of tongue, if you please, Mr. Legrange.”

“Never mind:  wait a few days, and we will see,” murmured Burroughs threateningly; and Dora did not care to retort, but, blushing brightly, began an eager conversation with Sunshine, who had nestled a chair in between those of her mother and Dora, and made lively claims upon the attention of both.