I like the
sentiment, too, don't you, Charlotte? I hope--do you know, it's one of
my pleasantest hopes--that our home is going to be one that knows how to
dispense hospitality. The real sort--not the sham."
Charlotte looked up at him and smiled.
"As if I need tell you what I wish!" he said, with gay tenderness. "You
know every thought I have about it."
"We'll make people happy here," said Charlotte. "Indeed, I want to, Andy
Churchill. This room--they shall find a welcome always--rich and poor.
Especially--the poor ones."
"Especially the poor ones. Won't old Mrs. Wilsey think it's pleasant
here? And Tom Brannigan--he'll be scared at first, but we'll show him
it's a jolly place--Charlotte, I musn't get to dreaming day-dreams now,
or I never can summon strength of purpose to wait another week. One week
from to-day! What an age it seems!"
"Run and make your calls," advised Charlotte, laughing, as she escaped
from him and hurried to the door. "The busier you keep, the shorter the
time will seem."
The week went by at last. To the young man, one of a large family long
since scattered--many members of it, including both father and mother,
in the old Virginia churchyard--the time could not come too soon.
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