America still remained distant and longed for, yet, to Lucy, England held a little of the spell of peace and homeland when Janet and Alan Leslie welcomed her back to Highland House.

She had not felt it so at Dover, nor in London’s crowded streets, where uniforms were common as before the armistice and a sort of uneasy restlessness persisted, as though these months before the opening of the Conference did not yet inspire full confidence that peace had come. But once in Surrey, among the glories of an English country springtime, Lucy felt her heart almost overflow with grateful happiness, and she could hardly talk to Janet at all to tell her how glad she was to be back with her at last.

Half of Lucy’s happiness was to watch Michelle, who seemed to change hourly with Europe left behind. The girl Lucy presented to Janet was hardly the same Michelle who through four long years had defied the Germans to wear out her heroic hope and courage. She was almost a child again—a child laughing with delight at the beauties of green leaves and apple orchards, and at seeing the young, happy faces of Lucy’s cousins according her such generous, friendly welcome.

Alan tried to put all his enthusiasm into words, and only managed to make everyone laugh at his bursts of inquiry, exclamation and light-hearted cordiality.

“Spoof me all you like,” he offered, in too high spirits to be easily dashed. “Here I’ve been waiting ages, wondering if you were really coming to tell me all the news of dear old Badheim——”

“Alan!” Janet protested.

“Well, I had rather larks there, you know. Can’t help liking the place. I want to hear it all from beginning to end—all about Franz and Herr Johann——I’m most awfully glad you came, Miss Michelle,” he broke off to say. “I was jolly afraid you’d go back on us.”

“Will you let me speak, Alan?” Janet demanded. “Lucy, when are your father and mother coming?”

“Next week. Father thinks he can manage to get a few days’ leave.”

“Arthur’s here, Lucy,” put in Alan.

“And Archibald Beattie,” Janet added.

“Captain Beattie? Oh, I will be glad to see him!” cried Lucy.

“And wait till you——”

“Sh-h! Alan. I want to surprise her,” said Janet quickly. “There’s someone at the house to see you, Lucy—three people, in fact——”

“Who’s telling now?” cried Alan.

“Cousin Henry?” asked Lucy eagerly.

“Yes,” said Janet, “but not alone. Just wait. Oh, we’re going to have fun, Lucy, when we’re all together! What we haven’t planned! No more hoeing corn at daybreak. Do you remember?”

“Don’t I!” said Lucy with a faint, happy sigh. “How long ago was it, anyway?”

This conversation took place on the way from the station to Highland House. Alan drove his fast greys along the country lanes at their best pace, and, sniffing the fresh sunny air, they devoured the five miles before them and in half an hour trotted up the long avenue of beeches to the great old country-house which Lucy had left in such miserable uncertainty a year before.

The doors at the head of the wide, shallow stone steps were open, and, as Alan drew rein and a stable boy ran to the horses’ bridles, Mrs. Leslie and her husband came out to meet their guests.

Colonel Leslie’s left sleeve hung empty, but he was erect as ever, his face as full of vigor and kindliness. Behind him came Mr. Henry Leslie, a hand on the shoulder of each of his two companions, at sight of whom Lucy’s greetings to the others were struck dumb on her lips.

“Marian! And William!” she cried, and, unable to speak another syllable, she sprang down to the steps and in an instant had her little brother in her arms.

Marian Leslie flung her arms about her neck as Lucy hugged William close to her, Lucy stopping only to hold William off from her far enough to see the changes that two years had brought the chubby five-year-old she had left behind her in America.

“Bigger, aren’t I, Lucy?” he asked, delighted. “But, gee, you’re bigger, too.”

Lucy wanted to cry, and to keep from doing it she caught tight hold of Marian’s hand and turned to present her to Michelle. “And Cousin Janet! Cousin Arthur! Oh, I haven’t spoken to you even!” she cried, the joyful surprise almost too much for her. “Marian, how glad I am to see you! You’ve grown up, you know.”

“So have you,” said Marian, smiling her frank, gay smile, as she shook Michelle’s hand. “Lucy, I almost wouldn’t have known you.”

“Well, I’d have known you in China,” declared Lucy, looking at Marian’s golden hair, now pinned up on her head, and at the unchanged delicate loveliness of rose-leaf skin and soft blue eyes. “Oh, Cousin Henry, how often Bob and I have talked of her! Are you truly well now?” she asked Marian, though the question was hardly needed.

“She is,” Mr. Leslie answered, his voice filled with deep satisfaction. “She’s as strong and well as anybody, and I’ll never forget who made her so.”

Lucy flushed at this reminder of the kind experiment she had undertaken so long ago, and, glad of a diversion, she glanced quickly up as Mrs. Leslie said:

“Here’s Arthur, Lucy, and Captain Eaton will be here soon.”

“I can’t believe it’s all true,” said Lucy, shaking Arthur Leslie’s hand. “Arthur, I’ve never seen you out of uniform before.”

“Got out just last week,” said Major Leslie, smiling at her. “How did you like the surprise, Lucy? Now we’ve only to assemble Beattie, Eaton, and your father and mother to have nothing more to wish for.”

“Meanwhile let us go indoors and make our guests comfortable,” proposed Mrs. Leslie. “Tea will be ready presently.”

“You don’t look much like an invalid, Bob,” said Arthur, one hand on his cousin’s shoulder. “We’ll see how your appetite is.”

“We still have to be sparing with the butter,” laughed Janet. “But you can have all the muffins you want, Lucy. And I think Michelle ought to have the lion’s share.”

Shyness had fallen on Michelle as these greetings took place, but the warm friendliness shown her, and Alan’s never-failing light-hearted companionship soon made her forget her strangeness.

Tea-time was a lovely hour at Highland House, Lucy had always thought, and this afternoon more so than ever. The table was spread on the tree-dotted lawn below the long windows of the dining-room. Basket chairs with chintz cushions invited everyone to comfort and peaceful enjoyment, and through the young leaves of the oaks the late sunbeams filtered, bright without warmth, as the breeze of early evening stirred.

Lucy said to Janet, “How often I’ve thought of you all sitting here! But it wasn’t all of you then! How long have you been home together?”

“Arthur got home after Alan, only two weeks ago. I’m not used to it yet.”

“Then sit down and make the most of it,” suggested Captain Beattie, who had walked over from his home ten miles away, arriving with a tremendous appetite, and a warm welcome for the travellers.

By way of reply Janet began pouring the tea. Lucy smiled at him but forgot to answer. She had not yet got used to Captain Beattie in civilian’s clothes. For the moment he was almost another person. This jolly, care-free, leisurely young Englishman in his country tweeds was not the prisoner of Chateau-Plessis, weary, starving and defiant, nor the devoted soldier of the war’s last glorious effort. He was the peace-time Englishman, taking things coolly, with easy calm. His clear eyes guessed Lucy’s thoughts, for he said, smiling at her:

“I’m out of my war stride, Lucy. Quite a tame dog now. I spend my days roaming the woods and finding out what’s become of our place while I was Boche-hunting and Dad was in the War Office. I think we’ve collected enough pheasant for a million bags.”

“That’s what I’ve heard the Britishers looking forward to ever since the armistice,” said Bob. “Going home to shoot. It’s a national mania.”

“You have some of your own,” declared Captain Beattie. “Hello, here’s Eaton.”

Larry came around the house with Alan and Michelle, and swung his cap around his head at sight of Bob and Lucy.

“You’re here at last! How are you? Good-afternoon, Mrs. Leslie. Thank you for asking me. Hello, Beattie—everyone.” He bowed to Arthur and Marian, and caught William Gordon’s hands to pull him from the arm of Lucy’s chair. “The last member of the Gordon family,” he exclaimed, looking down at the little boy, who returned his gaze with bright fearless eyes. “Another credit and I shouldn’t wonder.”

Bob was sitting beside Marian. These two, always unaccountably friends, even in Marian’s invalid days, had renewed their comradeship with great ease after two years’ separation. Something in Marian’s untroubled happy-hearted nature appealed to Bob’s restless soul. Even when she was a little girl he had liked to talk with her, secretly amused to watch her twist the curls of her golden hair about delicate lazy fingers, her fresh, pretty frocks never mussed or soiled at an age when Lucy was torn and dishevelled too often for belief.

For Marian had always had something honest and generous about her, behind her spoiled self-indulgence, something that had made her and Lucy friends from the beginning, in spite of the difference between them. Marian had never been vain of her beauty, and now, with her golden hair tucked up, almost a young lady, with the childish roundness gone from her pretty face, she was unaffected and good-tempered as ever.

“When are you coming home, Bob?” was her first question. “For months I’ve been planning what we’ll do when you and Lucy come to Long Island. Father will let me do anything in the world to welcome you home. Do make it soon!”

“Ask President Wilson,” said Bob, smiling. “When will peace be signed?”

“I wish Lucy’s friend Michelle could come, too,” Marian added softly. “I like her, Bob! And really I don’t know why I do, for she makes me feel a silly, worthless good-for-nothing.”

“Better get over that, Marian,” said Bob laughing. “Never knew you to be so humble before.”

“I mean it,” said Marian, still serious. “The war’s done one good thing for me, anyway. I don’t think I could ever be conceited now.”

Marian had looked at Michelle as she spoke, and, meeting her eyes, smiled at her. Michelle had lost her shyness almost at once, for it could not linger in such a friendly company. Those who were strangers to her, at first welcoming the little foreigner for kindness’ sake and because she was Lucy’s friend, within an hour had begun to like Michelle for herself. Her lovely face, lighted by the deep blue eyes which still held something in their depths of suffering bravely borne, won instant sympathy. And there was a kind of ............