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“Ef aye sprad dese hare, dey be dray en no tayme?” suggested Helma.

“Oh, yes! Spread them here by all means; then you can get a good start with your ironing to-morrow!” Anne agreed, rousing herself from her revery. “Put them all around the fire. And I MUST straighten this room!” she said, half to herself; “it’s getting on to five!”

Followed by the stumbling children, she went briskly about the room, reducing it to order with a practised hand. Toys were piled in a large basket, scraps tossed into the fire, sewing materials gathered together and put out of sight, the rugs laid smoothly, the window-shades drawn. Anne “brushed up” the floor, pushed chairs against the wall, put a shovelful of coals on the fire, and finally took her rocker at the hearth, and sat with Virginia in her arms, and Diego beside her, while two silver bowls of bread and milk were finished to the last drop.

“There!” said she, pleasantly warmed by these exertions, “now for nighties! And Daddy can come as soon as he likes.”

But Virginia was fretful and sleepy now, and did not want to be put down. So Diego manfully departed kitchenward with the empty bowls, and Anne, baby, rocker, and all, hitched her way across the room to the old chest of drawers by the hall door, and managed to secure the small sleeping garments with the little daughter still in her arms. She had hitched her way back to the fireplace again, and was very busy with buttons and strings, when Helma, appearing in the doorway, announced a visitor.

“Who?” said Anne, puzzled. “Did the bell ring? I didn’t hear it. What is it?”

“Jantl’man,” said Helma.

“A gentleman?” Anne, very much at a loss, got up, and carrying Jinny, and followed by the barefoot Diego, went to the door. She had a reassuring and instant impression that it was a very fine–even a magnificent–old man, who was standing in the twilight of the little hall. Anne had never seen him before, but there was no question in her heart as to his reception, even at this first glance.

“How do you do?” she said, a little fluttered, but cordial, too. “Will you come in here by the fire? The sitting-room is so cold.”

“Thank you,” said her caller, easily, with a little inclination of his head that seemed to acknowledge her hospitality. He put his hat, a shining, silk hat, upon the hall table, and followed her into the dining-room. Anne found, when she turned to give him the big chair, that he had pulled off his big gloves, too, and that Diego had put a confident, small hand into his.

He sat down comfortably, a big, square-built man, with rosy color, hair that was already silvered, and a fast-silvering mustache, and keen, kind eyes as blue as Virginia’s. In the expression of these eyes, and in the lines about his fine mouth, was that suggestion of simple friendliness and sympathy that no man, woman, or child can long resist. Anne found herself already deciding that she LIKED this man. She went on with Jinny’s small toilet, even while she wondered about her caller, and while she decided that Jim should have an overcoat of exactly this big, generous cut, and of exactly this delightful, warm-looking rough cloth, some day.

“Perhaps this is a bad hour to disturb these little people?” said the caller, smiling, but with something in his manner and in his rather deliberate and well-chosen speech, of the dignity and courtesy of an older generation.

“Oh, no, indeed!” Anne assured him. “I’m going right on with them, you see!”

Jinny, deliciously drowsy, gave the stranger a slow yet approving smile, from the safety of Anne’s arms. Diego went to lay a small hand upon the gentleman’s knee.

“This is my shoe,” said Diego, frankly exhibiting a worn specimen, “and Baby has shoes, too, blue ones. And Baby cried in the night when the mirror fell down, didn’t she, mother? And she broke her bowl, and bited on the pieces, and blood came down on her bib–“