That night when they sat in the small sitting-room with a bright fire burning in the shining stove, Maud felt her claim on her grandmother growing more and more shadowy.  Mrs. Harris was in a radiant humor.  She was knitting lace for the curtains, and chatted gaily as she worked.

“You see, Maud, I am never lonely here; it’s a real heartsome place to live.  There’s the trains goin’ by twice a day, and George here is a real good hand to read out to me.  We’re not near done with the book we’re reading, and I am anxious to see if Adam got the girl.  He was set on havin’ her, but some of her folks were in for makin’ trouble.”

“Folks sometimes do!” said Shaw, meaningly.

“Well, I can’t go until we finish the book,” the old lady declared, “and we see how the story comes out, and I don’t believe Maud is the one to ask it.”

Maud made a pretty picture as she sat with one shapely foot on the fender of the stove, the firelight dancing on her face and hair.  Shaw, looking at her, forgot the errand on which she came—­forgot everything only that she was there.

“Light the lamp and read a bit of the book now,” Mrs. Harris said.  “Maud’ll like it, I know.  She’s the greatest girl for books!”

Shaw began to read.  It was “The Kentucky Cardinal” he read, that exquisite love-story, that makes us lovers all, even if we never have been, or worse still, have forgotten.  Shaw loved the book, and read it tenderly, and Maud, leaning back in her chair, found her heart warmed with a sudden great content.

A week later Shaw and Maud walked along the river bank and discussed the situation.  Autumn leaves carpeted the ground beneath their feet, and the faint murmur of the river below as it slipped over its pebbly bed came faintly to their ears.  In the sky above them, wild geese with flashing white wings honked away toward the south, and a meadow lark, that jolly fellow who comes early and stays late, on a red-leafed haw-tree poured out his little heart in melody.

“You see, Mr. Shaw,” Maud was saying, “it doesn’t look right for Grandma to be living with a stranger when she has so many of her own people.  I know she is happy with you—­happier than she has been with any of us—­but what will people think?  It looks as if we didn’t care for her, and we do.  She is the sweetest old lady in the world.”  Maud was very much in earnest.

Shaw’s eyes followed the wild geese until they faded into tiny specks on the horizon.  Then he turned and looked straight into her face.

“Maud,” he said, with a strange vibration in his voice, “I know a way out of the difficulty; a real good, pleasant way, and by it your grandmother can continue to live with me, and still be with her own folks.  Maud, can you guess it?”

The blush that spread over Maud’s face indicated that she was a good guesser!

Then the meadow-lark, all unnoticed, hopped a little nearer, and sang sweeter than ever.  Not that anybody was listening, either!