Miss Deborah prepared more dainties than even Gifford's healthy appetite could possibly consume, and Miss Ruth hung her last painting of apple-blossoms in his bedroom, and let her rose jar stand uncovered on his dressing-table for two days before his arrival.

When he came, they hovered about him with small caresses and little chirps of affection, as though they would express all the love of the months in which they had not seen him.
Gifford had thought he would go to the rectory in the evening, and somehow the companionship of his aunts while there had not occupied his imagination; but it would have been cruel to leave them at home, so after tea, having tasted every one of Miss Deborah's dishes, he begged them to come with him to see Dr.Howe.They were glad to go anywhere if only with him, and each took an arm, and bore him triumphantly to the rectory.
"Bless my soul," said Dr.Howe, looking at them over his glasses, as they came into the library, "it is good to see you again, young man! How did you leave Helen ?" He pushed his chair back from the fire, and let his newspapers rustle to the floor, as he rose.

Max came and sniffed about Gifford's knees, and wagged his tail, hoping to be petted.

Lois was the only one whose greeting was constrained, and Gifford's gladness withered under the indifference in her eyes.
"She doesn't care," he thought while he was answering Dr.Howe, and rubbing Max's ears with his left hand.

"Helen may be right about Forsythe, but she doesn't care for me, either." "Sit here, dear Giff," said Miss Ruth, motioning him to a chair at her side.
"There's a draught there, dear Ruth," cried Miss Deborah anxiously.