Why, whatever’s going on here?” exclaimed Brevet.

“Oh, yes,” said Joe, turning slowly round, for he knew what had attracted Brevet’s attention. “I done notice it on de way up ter Ellismere fo’ you dis mornin’, an’ den I was so took up with dat fascinatin’ song of yo’s as we drove back, dat I didn’t want to interrupt you long ’nuff to call yo’ attention to it. Looks as dough dere mus’ be some one come ter live in de pretty little house, doesn’t it?”

“Why, yes, it does,” said Brevet, very much interested; “and you don’t know who it is, Joe?”

“No, I hasn’t knowed nuffin’ ’bout it, till I seed de whole place lookin’ so pert like dis mornin’,” and Joe brought old Jennie to a standstill that they might more fully take in the situation.

“Don’t you think I ought to find out, Joe?”

“Why, yes, Honey, seems ter me it would 024be sort of frien’ly,” and suiting the action to the word he took Brevet by the arms and dropped him down over the cart-wheel.

The change that had come over this point in the road was indeed remarkable. A little house that had remained untenanted for years, in the midst of an overgrown enclosure, stood this bright June morning with every door and window open to the air and sunshine. The vines which had half hidden it from view had already been cut away, and on every hand were signs that the place was being brought into liveable shape with all possible expedition. No one was in sight, so Brevet noiselessly pushed open the gate, and, making his way to the little front porch, reached upward and lifted the brass knocker of the open door. The unexpected sound instantly brought a neatly-dressed, elderly-looking woman from some room in the rear.

“How’dy,” said Brevet, instantly put at his ease by the kindness of the woman’s face.

“What did you say, dear?” she asked, with a puzzled frown.

“I said how’dy,” explained Brevet, wondering that the woman’s face still wore the puzzled look. “We just stopped to ask who was coming. We go by here very often, Joe and I,” pointing to the cart, “and we were 025wondering what was up seeing this place open that’s been closed so long.”

“It can’t be that Miss Julia’s self is a comin’ can it?” called Joe, for the little house was not set so far back from the road but that he could hear every word spoken between the woman and Brevet.

“Why, did you know Miss Julia?” she asked, stepping at once to the gate, with Brevet following close behind her.

“No, Miss; dat is not personally, but I knowed dat Miss Julia owned dis little plantation, an’ I often wonder dat she never done come to live on it. I can ‘member when her Uncle Dave was livin’, an’ it was den des de homiest little homestead in de country.”

“You have not heard then of Miss Julia’s death?”

“No,” exclaimed Joe, with as much feeling in his voice as though Miss Julia had indeed been an old friend; “you don’ tell me! I’se often heard what a reg’lar lady she was, and often wished I done have a chance to lay eyes on her.”

“She was a very good friend to me,” said the woman, sorrowfully, “and she had expected to come down here this summer and open the house, and bring a little family of city children with her who had never spent a day in the real country in their lives.” 026"You don’t say so!” said Joe, shaking his head sadly. “It’s strange what times de Lord chooses to call de good folks out of dis worl’.” And then he added, after a moment of respectful silence, “But de place here, am it sold to some new party?”

“No; Miss Julia left it in her will to a young lady who was just the same as a daughter to her, and she has decided to come down in Miss Julia’s place this summer.”

“And bring the little children?” asked Brevet, eagerly.

“And bring the little children,” answered the woman, her face brightening. “I have come down to make everything ready for them, and they are coming on Friday.”

“Oh, do you think I could know them?”

“Of course you can know them. You must come and see them so soon as ever they come. But you must tell me your name so that I can tell them about you.”

“My name is Howard Ellis, but that name isn’t any use now. Everybody calls me Brevet since I and the Captain here have grown to be such friends. It means kind of an officer in the army, and when I grow up I’m going to West Point and learn how to be a real officer, and not just kind of a one at all. But till then everybody’s going to call me Brevet. And 027now what is your name please, and the children’s, because I want to tell my grandnana all about you?”

“Well, my name is Mary Duff, dear, and the children are named Bennett—Mary and Teddy and Allan and Gertrude Bennett.”

“Oh, are two of them boys?” and Brevet’s face was radiant. “I haven’t had a boy to play with ever hardly, but I s’pose they’re older boys than me,” he added, a little crestfallen; “almost all boys are.”

“Well, Teddy is not very much older, just a little, and Allan is just about your age I should say. Never you fear, Brevet, you’ll have beautiful times with them all, I know.”

“When shall I come then?” wishing to have matters very definitely arranged. “Do you think they would like to have me here to help them feel at home right off at the very first?”

“Well, I should not wonder but they would like that very much indeed.”

“Then I will come on Friday.”

“You mean you will ask your grannana, Brevet,” said Joe, significantly.

“Oh, yes; I mean I will ask if I may come.” This last very quickly and eagerly, remembering his little lecture of the morning.

“Well, it’s des a comfort to see de ole place in shape once more, an’ I trus’ you an’ de 028young lady an’ de chilluns will have des a beautiful summer. P’r’aps some day,” and Joe’s eyes twinkled with the thought, “dey’ll all come up and spen’ de day with me at Arlington. Brevet here alway des loves to come. You know Arlington’s where all de soldiers am buried. I used to be a slave on de place ‘fo’ de wah, an’ dere ain’t much happened dere fur de las’ fifty years dat I hasn’t some knowledge of, and dey done tell me” (indulging in a little complacent chuckle) “dat it’s mighty interestin’ ter spen’ de day with Joe at Arlington.”

“Well, indeed I should think it would be,” said Mary, very much interested, “and I wish you would stop and see Miss Courage about it the first time you drive by.”

“Thank you very much, Miss; and now. Brevet, your grannana will be watchin’ fur us an’ we had bes’ be joggin’ on I’m thinkin’.”

“All right, Captain,” clambering into the cart, and then Joe and Brevet courteously touched their caps, in true military fashion, and old Jenny jogged on.

“Miss Courage did she say?” asked Brevet, the moment they were out of hearing, just as Joe knew he would.

“Yes; it soun’ like dat, Honey, but some day we must make inquiries. Dere mus’ be some ‘splanation of a name like dat.”