THE old kitchen was in winter the most attractive room in the farmhouse. Aunt Olivia had pots of flowers in the windows, shining pans were hung about the walls, and blue platters were set on the shelves. The cushions of the chairs were of a clear, bright red. Elizabeth had bought the covers for the cushions.
"They match your geraniums, Olivia."
Tonight two of the geraniums had been robbed of their blossoms to provide a centerpiece for the table. Crispin was to have supper with the aunts and to talk to them about Hildegarde. He had telephoned soon after his arrival and had set Saturday night for his visit, and now it was Saturday, and he was coming.
As the two aunts went about their work, they were thrilled by the things that were ahead of them. It seemed an amazing thing that Hildegarde was coming back. They had felt, when her letter reached them, that it was incredible she should leave luxury behind for what they could give her.
Yet they agreed they would be glad to have her. They had missed her more than they had anticipated. More than they had missed Elizabeth when she had
