“I wonder what Cal will say to losing his literary assistant,” he mused, smiling to himself.  “I doubt if Dick’s proved himself invaluable, and I presume the man he speaks of will give Cal much better service; but I shall be sorry not to have him going to the Grays’ every day; it seemed like a safe harbour.  Well, well, I never thought to find myself interested again in the fortunes of a country store.  Gad!  I can’t get over that.  The fellow’s been too proud to walk down the aisles of Kendrick & Company to buy his silk socks at cost—­preferred to pay two prices at an exclusive haberdasher’s instead!  And now—­he’s going to have a share in the sale of socks that retail for a quarter, five pairs for a dollar!  O Dick, Dick, you rascal, your old grandfather hasn’t been so happy since you were left to him to bring up.  If only you’ll stick!  But you’re your father’s son, after all—­and my grandson; I can’t help believing you’ll stick!”

CHAPTER XIII

LAVENDER LINEN

“I’m going to drive into town.  Any of you girls want to go with me?”

Mr. Rufus Gray addressed his wife and their two guests, his nieces, Roberta and Ruth Gray.  It was the midwinter vacation at the school where Roberta taught and at the equally desirable establishment where Ruth was taking a carefully selected course of study.  Uncle Rufus and Aunt Ruth had invited them to spend the four days of this vacation at their country home, according to a custom they had of decoying one or another of the young people of Rufus’s brothers’ families to come and visit the aunt and uncle whose own children were all married and gone, sorely missed by the young-hearted pair.  Roberta and Ruth had accepted eagerly, always delighted to spend a day or a month at the “Gray Farm,” a most attractive place even in winter, and in summer a veritable pleasure-ground of enjoyment.

They all wanted to go to town, the three “girls,” including the white-haired one whose face was almost as young as her nieces’ as she looked out from the rear seat of the comfortable double sleigh driven by her husband and drawn by a pair of the handsomest horses the countryside could boast.  It was only two miles from the fine old country homestead to the centre of the neighbouring village, and though the air was keen nobody was cold among the robes and rugs with which the sleigh overflowed.

“You folks want to do any shopping?” inquired Uncle Rufus, as he drove briskly along the lower end of Eastman’s principal business street.  “I suppose there’s no need of asking that.  When doesn’t a woman want to go shopping?”

“Of course we do,” Ruth responded, without so much as consulting the back seat.

“I meant to bring some lavender linen with me to work on,” said Roberta to Aunt Ruth.  “Where do you suppose I could find any, here?”

“Why, I don’t know, dearie,” responded Aunt Ruth doubtfully.  “White linen you ought to get anywhere; but lavender—­you might try at Artwell & Chatford’s.  We’ll go past Benson’s, but it’s no use looking there any more.  Everybody’s expecting poor Hugh to fail any day.”