Back in bed, she leaned against Cornelius’s shoulder, and they lay there, wonderfully at peace, looking out into the bright world, waiting for Hannah to bring the breakfast trays. It was not a time for talking. Cornelius swam up into consciousness slowly, as if he needed time to take possession of his physical being, bit by bit. But Christina was wide awake, resting on him with perfect lucidity, feeling his heart beat against her side.

“Old Home Day,” he said after a while, and sighed. “Between the haying and the harvest—the men could take a day off then, and no harm done. Before the Civil War the militia were mustered, and it must have been a great sight, a family picnic and parade all in one.”

“Good heavens, Cornelius, you never told me that before!”

“Only just remembered it. Heard my father saying it at breakfast seventy years ago … there were muffins, but Sarah burned them, and Father was angry. I had to wear button shoes and a Norfolk jacket … a sweltering hot day. At some point I disappeared and took my boots off and sat with my feet in the brook—delicious.”

“And Willard, dear Willard, is two hundred years old. I do hope we shall do it justice, this day—that it won’t all peter out.”

“Why should it?”

“Oh, you know—it’s all so casual and helter-skelter really.”

“Fiddlesticks! Willard is not fond of pomp and ceremony.”

“It does seem a pity that Jem’s history won’t be out though—after all his work. I have a feeling that Eben is going to steal the show—either that or go off on some wild tangent.”

Cornelius chuckled. “Absurd woman. No one ever listens to the speech. What does it matter?”

“I shall listen,” Christina said. “You’re not in a proper state of mind,” and she laughed with the pleasure of Cornelius’s teasing mood, his joy in the morning. “Still, I hope Eben does well.”

At that moment Hannah knocked at the door and bustled in with Cornelius’s tray, and Christina disappeared into the bathroom.

“Good morning, Sir,” she said, “and a fine morning it is, I’m glad to say.”

“Ah, you didn’t burn the muffins!”

Hannah frowned. “When did I ever? I never burnt a muffin!” She had blushed dark red.

Christina came to the rescue. “No, but someone seventy years ago on Old Home Day did and Cornelius was remembering.”

“God bless Hannah, the non-burner of muffins,” Cornelius said as Hannah poured out his coffee.

“Is everyone up?” Christina asked.

Sybille, John, and Alan had arrived Friday afternoon. Marianne, Bruno, and Cathy would be coming in time for lunch, with Mamzelle.

“No one’s up except Alan. He’s gone for a swim.”

“Good, you’ll have time to catch your breath.”

“Sandwiches to make. Eggs to stuff,” Hannah grumbled.

“The children will help.”