AN ARRIVAL. 



*95 



emerged from the forest on the valley road just as the 

 last rays of twilight were vanishing. 



The horses knew that they were going home. We 

 passed Profile Lake on a rattling trot, and when we rose 

 the slight ascent coming out of the woods in front of the 

 Profile House, the sight of the hundred gleaming win- 

 dows cheered them as it cheered us, and they broke into 

 a run and dashed up to the door in superb style. My 

 legs were a little stiff, so that I staggered as I descended 

 to the piazza, and might possibly have fallen but for the 

 clasp of two strong arms which caught me, and a low, 

 soft utterance of the musical salutation of the Orient : 



"The salutation of peace, Effendi." 



Involuntarily, before I saw his face, I responded " Be 

 it peace," and, lo ! it was John Steenburger. 



Fresh from the far-off lands of our affection, John had 

 arrived in New York but two days before, and, finding 

 some of our friends on the wing for the mountains, joined 

 them, and was watching on the piazza for my return. 

 How we embraced ! 



"Well, we are all here," said John. 



" What ? Who is with you ?" 



"All the family. Lucy and George and the young 

 ones, Philip and the Doctor ; all in your rooms at this 

 moment." 



And there they were — the birch-wood blazing high on 



my hearth, the children asleep on the diwan, Mrs. L 



and her husband sitting before the fire, while Philip and 

 the Doctor were furiously discussing some comic fishing 

 sketches of John Leech, which were the chief ornaments 

 on the walls. 



"You never wrote that you were coming. Serves you 

 right to find the house full and no rooms for you." 



