Their reception at Wesley, the ancestral home of the Costons, although it was late at night when they arrived, was none the less joyous.

Peggy was the first to welcome the invalid, and Tom was not far behind.
"Give her to me, St.George," bubbled Peggy, enfolding the girl in her arms.

"You blessed thing! Oh, how glad I am to get hold of you! They told me you were ill, child--not a word of truth in it! No, Mr.Coston, you sha'n't even have one of her little fingers until I get through loving her.

What's your mammy's name--Henny?
Well, Henny, you take Miss Kate's things into her room--that one at the top of the stairs." And then the Honorable Tom Coston said he'd be doggoned if he was going to wait another minute, and he didn't--for Kate kissed him on both cheeks and gave him her father's message, congratulating him on his appointment as judge, and thanking him in advance for all the kindness he would show his daughter.
But it was not until she awoke next morning and looked out between the posts of her high bedstead through the small, wide-open window overlooking the bay that her heart gave the first bound of real gladness.

She loved the sky and the dash of salt air, laden now with the perfume of budding fruit trees, that blew straight in from the sea.
She loved, too, the stir and sough of the creaking pines and the cheery calls from the barnyard.