There was no announcement of Julie’s engagement except to the household of Wavertree Hall. Her marriage was likely to take place early in the summer, for Dr. Ware was to attend a medical convention in California and wanted to take her with him. In the event of his doing this, Hester and Bridget would join them later, for Mrs. Driscoe wanted to be off, as was her custom, to the Springs and Hester shrank from going into a scene of gayety. There seemed to be no reason why this plan should not be carried out, for Julie had entirely recovered and except for the shadow of sadness left by her father’s death, was quite herself again. She knew it would be their beloved Daddy’s wish that she should shape herself to the events of her life in just the way she would have done had he been actually among them, and many and many a time her new happiness was glorified by the thought that he knew and was rejoicing too.

When Hester came and told her of that ride through the woods with Kenneth, her cup was filled to overflowing. For Julie understood her sister better than the girl understood herself and she knew the love she now bore Kenneth would “grow and grow,” as he had said, until it became a powerful factor in her life.

So finally Julie’s wedding day was fixed and the day before, Dr. Ware with the Lennoxes and, as a joyful surprise above all things, Jack, arrived on the scene. The Doctor told her that this was the Driscoes’ idea—to bring them down and surprise her, as Cousin Nancy’s guests. As Mrs. Driscoe said to Mrs. Lennox, who laughingly protested against such an invasion:

“Virginia is the heart of the country, my dear Mrs. Lennox, and we are the heart of Virginia—welcome to Wavertree Hall.” She was heard to remark afterward to the Colonel that that charming individual looked like a thorough-bred Virginian.

As for Jack, a more ecstatic boy never trod on earth. The girls laughed and cried over him. So did Bridget, who gave him such a hearty smack that he nearly hugged the head off her.

There were other arrivals also, that day at Dunn Loring, for Mr. Landor had come down to have a look at Kenneth, and Sidney Renshawe was once more at the Blakes’ plantation.

The latter called at Wavertree Hall that afternoon and Mrs. Driscoe was in such a good humor over the charming, aristocratic Mrs. Lennox and the little excitement of guests which delighted her hospitable soul that she actually shook hands with him and asked him to join their party that afternoon—they were going over to camp to see Mr. Landor. That bit of cordiality was enough for Renshawe. Enough, too, for dear little Nannie, who had witnessed this meeting with mingled fear and delight.

They arrived at camp just before parade and at Kenneth’s tent was an elderly man who proved to be his father. In the general introductions which followed, Kenneth’s pleasure was very great in this meeting of Hester and his father. She began talking to him at once in her bright, vivacious way, and what was really remarkable,—for he never had the faintest idea what to say to girls and seldom encountered them, he talked to her quite at his ease. But then, this wily young woman touched now and then on Kenneth—just enough to start him on the subject nearest his heart. It was very near her heart, too. But when had the stern, impassive Caleb Landor talked so freely of his son before?

As they sat under the “fly” which made a shelter in front of the tent, the girls observed down the line the colors standing in front of the Captain’s quarters and it thrilled them with the pride of patriotism to see all the men and officers in going to and fro lift their hats and pass bare-headed before the flag.

The routine of camp was very interesting to Dr. Ware who had lived through it, to the girls who had all their lives heard of it, and to Jack, who still hoped to be a part of it in spite of his years. So it was a very talkative if somewhat weary party that returned to Wavertree Hall.

Late that evening there came tearing up the avenue a mounted orderly. He brought a note for Miss Hester Dale which required an immediate answer. She opened it quickly. At the end she leaned against the pillar as if for support. Then she called Julie out from the garden where she and Dr. Ware were strolling and said unsteadily:

“Read that, Julie dear. I want you to know before I send my answer.”

Julie read:

“Sweetheart, my orders have come. Since you left I have heard officially. I am to be transferred and leave for Tampa to-morrow afternoon to join the Rough Riders, who embark in a few days for Santiago. Do you think, dear—could you, would you marry me before I go? Would that dear little Julie let you and me go with her and the Doctor to-morrow and make our lives one in the sight of God? Oh, say yes, say yes! But not unless you are sure, dear. I had rather wait a dozen years than have you give yourself to me under protest. Whatever you say, dear, I shall believe is for the best. But, oh! if you could—KENNETH.”

Julie took her sister in her arms.

“Hester, darling, have you decided?”

“Yes, Julie.”

“You and Kenneth will come to-morrow with Philip and me?”

“Yes, Julie.”

“Oh! Hester, my blessed, blessed girlie, it is the most beautiful thing in the world!”

There was very little sleep for the girls that night. They sat for a long while in the window-seat up in their room where the scent of the honeysuckle came drifting in, talking softly of the past and laying plans whereby their happiness should go out into the world like a strong search-light to illumine dark places.

“It is not always those commonly called the poor who are most in need, Hester. It is the refined, sensitive people who have seen better days, who suffer most. And we have learned, too, dear, how super-sensitive adversity makes one. I am glad we know these things, aren’t you, even though the learning of them nearly tore our hearts out? It has broadened and developed us and is going to make us helpful women in the world.”

“And oh! Julie dear,” replied Hester, “isn’t it beautiful to think how we shall be able, both of us, through our—our husbands,” stumbling over the word, “to do things for people. Little things and big things to lighten people’s burdens and give them courage, just as so many times courage was given to us.”

“Yes, darling. God is putting the power in our hands—it is for us to use it wisely.”

Presently Hester said, “I am glad we won our own place in Radnor before going back there again under different circumstances. It makes me feel that we amounted to something and that if it ever happened that misfortune of that sort came again we should be able to keep our heads above water, to turn our fingers to account. Look at them, Julie,” holding up her hands for inspection, “they are not the same things at all.”

“No dear, they have lost their porcelain transparency which used to be such a pride and delight but I like them better as they are. They are strong, capable hands, now, for all their daintiness which you never can lose. I have been thinking lately, that one’s hand can be as indicative of character as one’s face. I hope yours and mine will not belie us.”

“We did not much think when we came out of the flat that day that we should never go back there, did we, old girl? I can’t realize it yet. It seems as if all those pots and kettles and pans and bottles would swoop down and whisk us off to ‘The Hustle’ when we get back to Radnor. Oh! my dear, we did ‘hustle’! The name did not belie that place! Down here in this drowsy Virginia I sometimes wonder if it was really we who worked like that.”

“I know,” Julie said, “I know, too, that we should have worked right on there to the best of our ability all our lives if it had been so ordered, but I am thankful, thankful that our energies can act in another way. We shall have a great deal to do, dear, and the wisdom of an older experience than ours to help us do it and all the time Daddy watching over his little girls.”

And so at last they lay down to rest, these two little comrades whose heads and hearts were full of joyous anticipation of a broader field of action, a glorious life campaign.

Nothing could exceed the simplicity of the wedding that lovely June morning. Flanked on either side by Dr. Ware and Kenneth, the girls walked down the avenue to the gate and across the road with those nearest and dearest in attendance, to the little chapel where for generations the Fairleighs had worshiped and where the previous autumn their father had put in a memorial window to their mother. The gardens and the woods for miles around had been stripped of flowers to decorate the chancel, which took on a thousand lights as the mellow sunshine poured in through the stained glass windows.

Little Nannie stood up with them—she and Sidney Renshawe, and the dear old Colonel during the ceremony was forced more than once to take off his glasses and wipe them carefully. The girls were without ornament save that each carried a great bunch of white roses gathered in the garden at Wavertree Hall. Julie wore a certain white mulle gown that the Doctor loved while Hester, to please Kenneth, the simple muslin frock in which she had picked blackberries.

“A bride in a frock just out of the wash-tub!” cried Cousin Nancy aghast. She had never dreamed of such a total disregard of the conventionalities. But when she found Mrs. Lennox was on Hester’s side she demurred no longer.

Mr. Landor sat with the Lennoxes and many a strange sensation took hold of him as he gazed first at Kenneth and then at Hester and back again at his stalwart son.

Bridget occupied a front seat in a state of perfect beatitude. She was the first to receive a kiss from the brides when the ceremony was over. Jack was there, of course, immensely relieved at this satisfactory arrangement whereby all three of his friends were happily married. And Peter Snooks was there, solemn and dignified, decorated with a gorgeous red, white and blue bow but indignant at this touch of femininity and resentful that he was not allowed to go up and stand with the bridal party. George Washington and the other servants were in the rear of the chapel.

After the ceremony they all trooped back again to Wavertree Hall where, on the lawn under a cluster of superb oak trees, where the stars and stripes were waving, a lunch was spread for their refreshment.

Cousin Nancy, aided by Mrs. Lennox, was the presiding genius of the feast, while Mr. Lennox, also, came to the front with jests and stories to relieve the solemnity of the past half hour.

Kenneth, radiantly happy and looking handsomer than ever in his uniform, was here, there and everywhere, but with always his first thought for Hester. She was unusually quiet—subdued by happiness and the thought of the parting so near at hand. It was Julie that day whose laugh was the merriest, but then Julie knew something which Hester did not.

In accordance with a tradition of Wavertree Hall Mrs. Driscoe had brewed a punch, a mild but delicious concoction famous at all the Fairleigh weddings.

Mr. Lennox proposed the health of the brides and then the bridegrooms. Dr. Ware toasted the mistress of Wavertree Hall. And so it went around from one to the other, until, having cheered the President, the army, the navy and the flag, Dr. Ware excited the wildest enthusiasm by bowing low to Mrs. Driscoe and saying:

“We lived through other days in Virginia, you and I, Mrs. Driscoe. Three cheers now for a reunited country!”

How they did shout! There was not a dry eye among them. Then Jack’s thin voice called out:

“Won’t somebody please cheer for the boys that want to be soldiers and can’t?” At which they all laughed and cheered again.

There were other people who had a secret that day besides Julie. Indeed they were all in it except Hester—in fact they knew much more about it than Julie herself, who only knew half. It had been arranged that Hester and Kenneth should drive with Julie and the Doctor to the station; then, as Hester supposed, she and Kenneth were to have an hour together before he took his departure. He had told her that he had left everything at camp ready to send on, so that it would not be necessary for him to return there.

She was a little surprised when they took such an affectionate farewell of her as well as Julie and before she got into the carriage Mr. Landor had asked her to step aside a moment with him.

“I shall be gone when you return,” he said, speaking with some difficulty, “and it is proper you should know that I approve of Kenneth’s marriage. He talked at some length about you last night and it’s a good thing—a good thing. I never had a daughter—”

Hester kissed him. Caleb Landor had not been kissed for thirty years.

“Kenneth belongs to us both,” the girl said simply, “and we are both giving him up but it must be the hardest for you, because you have had him the longest.”

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” gruffly, to hide his emotion, “we can’t go into that. I want you to take this,” slipping something in her hand. “I hear your sister requested there should be no wedding gifts for her. Mrs. Lennox tells me that she asked those who wished to remember her to turn the money instead into the Red Cross Fund. No doubt you feel as she does. I understand you are much alike. If you will keep that paper and use it for the sick and wounded later—for we are bound to have them—as a gift from yourself, I shall be much obliged to you. No, don’t thank me, say nothing about it. And remember that my house is open to you whenever you care to come.” It is doubtful if Caleb Landor had ever made so long a speech in his life.

She did thank him, choking back her tears. Then she thrust the paper in her pocket and later when she had a chance to examine it she found a check of a thousand dollars, made payable to her, Hester Dale Landor!

All the way to the station she roused herself and chatted gayly to make Julie’s last moments with her a bright remembrance. Julie was so excited she could scarcely contain herself and in order to sit still was fairly rigid in her seat.

When they reached the station the train was not yet in sight but on a side track stood a car.

“What is that?” asked Julie curiously, as they left the carriage.

“That is yours,” quietly answered Dr. Ware, watching the effect of his words.

“Mine? What are you talking about?”

“Come and see,” cried the Doctor who felt like a boy of twenty.

She ran down the platform, stood still and trembled from head to foot.

“Hester,” she gasped, turning with the old habit to her sister, “Hester, it is ‘The Hustle!’”

“What!”

“It is, it is!”

Bridget with Peter Snooks in her arms was waving out the car window.

“Oh, Philip!” Julie cried. And without another word he took her in his arms and carried her in the car.

“If the days to come here,” he whispered as he put her down, “are as happy as the old ones, little wife, I shall be satisfied.”

Hester and Kenneth, who had not known whether or not to follow were called peremptorily in and all exclaimed over by Bridget, who having been appointed by the Doctor a reception committee of one, felt this the proudest and happiest moment of her life.

“Now tell us all about it,” said Julie, “but first I am going to make Hester as ‘comfy as comfy can be.’ You poor little thing, you are not going to lose Kenneth to-day. You are both coming South with us. We are going to do escort duty to the distinguished young officer, Lieutenant Landor.”

“What!” exclaimed the bewildered Hester.

“We are all going down in ‘The Hustle’ together, Hester,” explained Dr. Ware, while she was made to sit down, Kenneth tucking a cushion under her feet and Julie perching on the arm of her chair. “Julie did not know about ‘The Hustle’—that was my surprise for her—but she did know that we meant to go West by the way of Tampa—we settled that last night after you heard from Kenneth—and have you and him go along with us so that we could all see the last of him. Kenneth and the people at Wavertree Hall knew about it. I had to let Kenneth into my secret so he could send his things aboard. Bridget packed your trunks while you were at luncheon and got them off without your knowing it and here we all are, as snug as possible, with Bridget and Peter Snooks to keep us in order.”

“Kenneth,” said Hester with brimming eyes but in the old bantering tone which always made them laugh, “how dare you have secrets from your wife? How dare you! It’s a perfectly scandalous beginning!”

“Please, you were not my wife then, and I won’t any more,” he said penitently. “Will you forgive me, please?”

“I don’t understand how you did it,” said Julie to her husband, who leaned over the back of the chair on the arm of which she was perching, his head on a level with hers.

“It was not difficult, dear. I had been on the track of ‘The Hustle’ for some time. I always intended to capture you all sometime and take you off for a vacation in her. That was one of my dreams, but I never mentioned it to certain little girls I knew for fear it would never come true. Early this spring I learned that the car had been relegated to a car shed on a Western road—it was not considered modern enough for use. So I ordered it on to Radnor, had it overhauled and thought it would be an ideal place for a honeymoon, eh, little wife?”

“Oh! yes,” she said shyly.

“And Hester,” slipping his hand down over the chair and resting it on her shoulder, “it is your honeymoon, too, dear. I am so glad. And ‘The Hustle’ is yours as much as it is Julie’s. Will you always remember that? Kenneth, old man,” with a change of tone, “will you come with me and see that everything is aboard? I hear the train, which means that we shall be picked up and taken on in a few minutes.”

Left to themselves, the girls, half-dazed by these astonishing events, wandered slowly about the dear old familiar car, which had suffered scarcely an alteration. Julie felt it was Dr. Ware’s exquisite forethought which had kept the interior so nearly as they had left it. There was the piano at which she had so often played and sang for Daddy and the great leather chair drawn up close in which he had spent many a restful hour listening to her. Over the piano in its old place hung a portrait of her mother and at one end of the car, looking down benignly, hung their favorite picture of their father—the Major in full uniform with that spirited look of action which so distinguished him. Over the picture were crossed two swords, his and the Doctor’s; over these higher up was draped Old Glory hanging in splendid folds.

“Miss Nannie and Mr. Renshawe and Jack, they come over this mornin’ an’ fixed the flag an’ all the flowers you see around everywheres. Jack said to tell you he done the swords. Didn’t he get ’em up fine? They had a great time over here all unbeknownst to yez,” explained Bridget.

The girls stood hand in hand before the picture. “Oh! Daddy,” they whispered, “dear Daddy, help us to be worthy of all this!”