"It _is_ Cary," thought Doris with a sense of disappointment, though why she could not have told.

Half an hour afterward they came out to the study.

"Oh, Doris!" Cary cried, "how you have changed and grown. I shouldn't have known you! I've been carrying about with me the remembrance of a little girl. In my mind you have been no taller, no older, and yet I might have known--why, we shall have to get acquainted all over again."

Doris blushed. "I am sure I have not changed as much as you. I did not think it could be you."

"Someone at Annapolis before we went out designated me as 'That consumptive-looking young fellow.' But I have grown strong and hearty, and no doubt I shall come to fourscore. I do not mean that it shall be all labor and sorrow, either."

Then Cary made the rounds of the house. Miss Recompense was as much amazed as Doris had been. Cato and Dinah were overjoyed. He had hardly dared dream that nothing would be changed, that more than the old love would be given back. He had gone away a boy, nurtured in the restraints of wise Puritanism that made a lasting mark on New England character; he had come home a man of experience, of deeper thought, of higher understanding and stronger affection. He was proud that he had done his duty as a citizen of the republic, but he knew now that neither naval or military life was to his taste. Henceforth he was to be a son in the old home.

Doris left them talking when she went to bed, a little hurt and jealous that she was no longer first, that she could not be all to Uncle Win. It gave her a kind of solitary feeling.

The old house took on an aspect of intense interest. There was a continual going and coming and enough congratulations for a wedding feast. All Cary's friends vied with each other in warm welcomes, and Madam Royall claimed him with the old time cordiality.

Was there any disappointment about Alice?

He had a boy's thought the first few months about winning glory for her, of coming back to her, and perhaps laying his triumphs at her feet. But the real work, the anxieties, the solemn fact of taking one's life in one's hands and realizing how near death might be, had changed him month by month, until he had only one prayer left--that he might see his father again. If she was happy--she surely had her heart's choice--he was satisfied. They had never really been lovers.

When the first excitement of welcome was over there were many things to think about. His interrupted career was one. Governor Gore had been chosen United States Senator the year before, but he still kept his office, and very kindly greeted the return of his student, offering him still greater advantages. Here the young Daniel Webster, a lad fresh from the country, had won the friendship of his master, and after a brief trial in New Hampshire had returned to Boston.

Boston town began to experience the beneficent power of peace.

Languishing industries revived. Commerce had been crippled by the war, but the inhabitants of New England had learned the value of their own ingenuity and industry to supply needs, and now they were roused to the fact there was an outside world to supply as well.

Improvements started up on every side. There was even talk of transforming the town into a city. Indeed, it had never been a formally incorporated town. The Court of Assistants one hundred and seventy years before had changed the name from Tri-Mountain to Boston, and it had taken the privileges of a town. But there were many grave questions coming to the front.

The family party at the Adams house this year seemed to include half of Boston. One by one the old relatives had dropped out. Some of the younger ones had gone to other cities.

Madam Royall came over to be mistress of ceremonies. For besides the ovation to the returned lieutenant, Miss Doris Adams was to be presented as a full-fledged young lady, and she wore her pretty gown made for the Peace Ball, and pink roses. Miss Betty Leverett was quite a star as well. Miss Helen Chapman was engaged, and Eudora was a favorite with the young gentlemen.

"I shall be so sorry when they are all gone," declared Madam Royall. "I do love young people, but I am afraid my fourth generation will not grow up in time for me to enjoy them. You must keep good watch over Doris lest some wolf enters the fold and carries off the sweet child."

Uncle Win smiled and then looked grave. Doris carried off--oh, no, he could never spare her!

Cary Adams had not forgotten how to dance, and every girl he asked was delighted with the opportunity. It seemed rather queer to Doris to accept or decline on her own responsibility.

A week or two later, when they had settled to quite regular living, Cary came out and sat on the step one evening.

"Doris," he began, "do you remember the letter I sent you by a Lieutenant Hawthorne--that first letter----" What a flood of remembrances it brought!

"Oh, yes." She had begun to feel very much at home with Cary--his little sister, as he called her. "And I must tell you a queer thing--the day you came home--when I looked down the path--I thought of him. You had changed so. I don't know what sent him to my mind."

"That was odd. He is in town. He called on me to-day. For the last year he has been Captain Hawthorne, and he is a splendid fellow. He has been sent to the Charlestown Navy Yard, and may be here the next three months, for now the Government is considering a navy. Well--we did some splendid fighting with the old ships. But oh, Doris, you can't imagine how homesick I was. I had half a mind to show the white feather and come home."

"Oh, you couldn't have done it, Cary!"

"No, I couldn't when it came to the pinch. But if I had gone with father's consent! I understood then what it would be never to see him again. I think I shall be a better son all my life for the lesson."

"Yes," in her gentle approving fashion.

"Hawthorne wants to come over here," Cary said presently. "I think my father would like him, though I notice he has an aversion to military or naval men. But I shall never go away again unless the country is in great danger."

"I should like to see him. I wonder if he has changed as much as you?"

"I think not," and Cary laughed. "He was twenty-four then, and sort of settled into manhood, while I was a rather green stripling."

"You are losing some of the 'sea tan,' as Madam Royall calls it. I am glad of it. I like you best fair."

"Captain Hawthorne is a very handsome man. I ought to feel flattered to be mistaken for him."

"Is he?" returned Doris simply.

"Don't you remember him?"

"I remember that he asked me for a rose and I gave it to him. It was the last one on the bush. I was so glad to get the letter I couldn't think of anything else."

So Cary brought him over to tea one afternoon. Doris noted then that he was extremely good-looking and very entertaining. Besides, he had a fine tenor voice and they sang songs together.

Uncle Winthrop was troubled at first. Captain Hawthorne's enthusiasm for his profession was so ardent that Mr. Adams was alarmed lest it might turn Cary's thoughts seaward again. But he found presently that Cary's enlisting had been that of a patriotic, high-spirited boy, and that he had no real desire for the life.

What a summer it was! Betty was over often, Eudora was enchanted with the Adams house, and there was a bevy of girls who brought their sewing and spent the afternoon on the stoop. Sometimes Uncle Win came out and read to them. There were several new English poets. A Lord Byron was writing the cantos of a beautiful and stirring poem entitled "Childe Harold" that abounded in fine descriptions. There were "The Lady ol the Lake" and "Marmion," and there was a queer Scotchy poet by the name of Burns, who had a dry wit--and few could master the tongue. A whole harvest of delight was coming over from England.

There were so many curious and lovely places within a few hours sail or drive. Captain Hawthorne had spent most of his life in Maryland, and this scenery was new. They made up parties for the day, or Betty, Doris, and Uncle Winthrop and the captain went in a quartette.

"I don't know," Uncle Win said one day with a grave shake of the head.

"Do you not think I am rather an old fellow to go careering round with you young people?"

"But, you see, someone would have to go," explained Doris. "Young ladies can't go out with a young man alone. It would have to be Aunt Elizabeth, or Mrs. Chapman, and I would so much rather have you. It's nice to be just by ourselves."

"The captain seems to like Betty very much."

"Indeed he does," answered Doris warmly.

Occasionally Cary would get off and join them. But he was trying hard to catch up. He had gotten out of study habits, and some days he found it quite irksome, for he was fond of pleasure, and it seemed to him that Betty was extremely charming, and Doris quaint, and Eudora vivacious to the point of wit.

One warm August afternoon he sat alone, having resolved to master a knotty point. What were the others doing? he wondered.

There was a step, and he glanced up.

"Oh," nodding to Captain Hawthorne, "I was just envying you and all the others, and wondering where you were on pleasure bound."

"It was not pleasure, but hard work over at the yard to-day. However, I have the evening, and feel like inviting myself to partake of a cup of the comforting tea Miss Recompense brews."

"Come along then. I have put in a good day and am conscience-clear."

Cary began to pile up his books.

"I have only about a fortnight more," Captain Hawthorne said slowly.