In his secret heart Mr. Baron had hoped that his nephew would go on to his own home, a few miles further; for applauding him as a hero was one thing, and having him turn everything upside down at that hour another.  Routine and order were scattered to the winds whenever Mad Whately made his appearance, but the host’s second thoughts led him to remember that this visitation was infinitely to be preferred to one from the terrible Yankees; so he threw wide open the door, and, with his wife, greeted his nephew warmly.  Then he shouted for Perkins to come and look after the horses.

“Ah, mine uncle,” cried Whately, “where on earth is to be found a festive board like yours?  Who so ready to fill the flowing bowl until even the rim is lost to sight, when your defenders have a few hours to spare in their hard campaigning?  You won’t entertain angels unawares to-night.  You’d have been like Daniel in the den with none to stop the lions’ mouths, or rather the jackals’, had we not appeared on the scene.  The Yanks were bearing down for you like the wolf on the fold.  Where’s my pretty cousin?”

Mr. Baron had opened his mouth to speak several times during this characteristic greeting, and now he hastened to the foot of the stairs and shouted, “Louise, come down and help your aunt entertain our guests.”  Meanwhile Whately stepped to the sideboard and helped himself liberally to the sherry.

“You know me must maintain discipline,” resumed Whately, as his uncle entered the dining-room.  “The night is mild and still.  Let a long table be set on the piazza for my men.  I can then pledge them through the open window, for since I give them such hard service, I must make amends when I can.  Ah, Perkins, have your people rub the horses till they are ready to prance, then feed them lightly, two hours later a heavier feed, that’s a good fellow!  You were born under a lucky star, uncle.  You might now be tied up by your thumbs, while the Yanks helped themselves.”

“It surely was a kind Providence which brought you here, nephew.”

“No doubt, no doubt; my good horse, also, and, I may add, the wish to see my pretty cousin.  Ah! here she comes with the blushes of the morning on her cheeks,” but his warmer than a cousinly embrace and kiss left the crimson of anger in their places.

She drew herself up indignantly to her full height and said, “We have been discussing the fact that I am quite grown up.  I will thank you to note the change, also.”

“Why, so I do,” he replied, regarding her with undisguised admiration; “and old Father Time has touched you only to improve you in every respect.”

“Very well, then,” she replied, coldly, “I cannot help the touch of Father Time, but I wish it understood that I am no longer a child.”

“Neither am I, sweet cousin, and I like you as a woman far better.”

She left the room abruptly to assist her aunt.

“Jove! uncle, but she has grown to be a beauty.  How these girls blossom out when their time comes!  Can it be that I have been absent a year?”