Isn't it all as wonderful as a fairy
story?"
"There's a little more; listen, dear."
As to the term of your occupancy, the Careys may have the Yellow
House until the day of my death, unless by some extraordinary
chance my son Tom should ever want it as a summer home.
"Oh, dear! there comes the dreadful 'unless'! 'My son Tom' is our only
enemy, then!" said Nancy darkly.
"He is in China, at all events," her mother remarked cheerfully.
Tom is the only one who ever had a bit of sentiment about
Beulah, and he was always unwilling that the old place should
be occupied by strangers. The curious thing about the matter
is that you and yours do not seem to be strangers to me and
mine. Do you know, dear little Miss Nancy, what brought the
tears to my eyes in your letter? The incident of your father's
asking what you could do to thank the Yellow House for the
happy hour it had given you on that summer day long ago, and the
planting of the crimson rambler by the side of the portico. I
have sent your picture tying up the rose,--and it was so
charming I was loath to let it go,--with your letter, and the
snap shot of the family group, all out to my son Tom in China.
He will know then why I have let the house, to whom, and all
the attendant circumstances. Trust him never to disturb you
when he sees how you love the old place.
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