above the trees on the ridge, its fatplume of smoke curling over the rooftree.The house stood.He breathed deep in relief, noticing now the other smells of home; the faint rich scent of manure from the stable, of meatsmoked and hanging in the shed, and the breath of the forest nearby--damp wood and leaf-rot, rock and rushing water, thetouch of it cold and loving on his cheek.They came out of the chestnut grove and into the large clearing where the house stood, solid and neat, its windows glazed goldwith the last of the sun.It was a modest frame house, white-washed and shingle-roofed, clean in its lines, and soundly built, but impressive only bycomparison with the crude cabins of most settlers. His own first cabin still stood, dark and sturdy, a little way down the hill.Smoke was curling from that chimney, too."Someone's made a fire for Bree and Roger," Claire said, nodding at it."That's good," he said. He tightened his arm about her waist, and she made a small, contented noise in her throat, wriggling herbottom into his lap.Gideon was happy, too; he stretched out his neck and whinnied to the two horses in the penfold, who trotted to and fro in theenclosure, calling greetings. Claire's mare was standing by the fence, reins dangling; she curled her lip in what looked likederision, the wee besom. From somewhere far down the trail behind them came a deep, joyous bray; Clarence, hearing theracket and delighted to be coming home.The door flew open, and Mrs. Bug popped out, round and flustered as a tumble-turd. He smiled at sight of her, and gaveClaire an arm to slide down before dismounting himself."All's well, all's well, and how's yourself, sir?" Mrs. Bug was reassuring him before his boots struck ground. She had a pewtercup in one hand, a polishing cloth in the other, and didn't cease her polishing for an instant, even as she turned up her face toaccept his kiss on her withered round cheek.She didn't wait for an answer, but turned at once a...
