“And speaking of your grandfather reminds me,” Malcolm said heavily, “that one of the things that delayed me to-day was a matter that came up a week or two ago.  When the town buys the old Archer ranch as a Park, they propose to put twelve thousand dollars into improvements—­”

“Oh, joy!” said Martie.  “Excuse me, Pa!”

“The trolley will pass it,” her father pursued, “the Park being almost exactly half-way between Monroe and Pittsville.  Now Pittsville ...”

“What do you bet they get all the glory?” Martie flashed.  “Their Woman’s Club...”  Her voice fell:  “I do beg your pardon, Pa!” she said again contritely.

“I can discuss this with your mother,” Malcolm said in majestic patience.

“Oh, no!  Please, Pa!”

Her father studied her coldly, while the table waited with bated breath.

“Pittsville,” he resumed in a measured voice, without moving his eyes from his third daughter, “is, as usual, making a very strong and a most undignified claim for the Park.  They wish it to be known as the Pittsville Casino.  But Selwyn told me to-day that our people propose to take a leading share of the liability and to call the Park the Monroe Grove.”

He paused.  His listeners exchanged glances of surprise and gratification.

“Not that there’s a tree there now!” Martie said cheerfully.

It was an unfortunate speech, breaking irreverently as it did upon this moment of exaltation.  Lydia hastily came to Martie’s relief.

“Pa!  Isn’t that splendid—­for Grandfather Monroe!  I think that’s very nice.  They know what this town would have amounted to without him!  All those fine reference books in the library—­and files and files of bound magazine’s!  And didn’t he give the property for the church?”

Every one present was aware that he had; there was enthusiastic assent about the table.

“They propose,” Malcolm added as a climax, “to erect a statue of Leonard Monroe in a prominent place in that Park; my gift.”

“Pa!” said a delighted chorus.  The girls’ shining eyes were moist.

“It was Selwyn’s idea that there should be a fund for the cost of the statue,” their father said.  “But as the town will feel the added taxation in any case, I propose to make that my gift.  The cost is not large, the time limit for paying it indefinite.”

“Twenty thousand dollars?” Martie, who had a passion for guessing, ventured eagerly.

“Not so much.”  But Malcolm was pleased to have the reality so much more moderate than the guess.  “Between two and three thousand.”

“Some money!” Leonard exclaimed.  He grinned at Martie contemptuously.  “Twenty!” said he.

“Your sister naturally has not much idea of the value of money,” Malcolm said, with what was for him rare tolerance.  “Yes, it is a large sum, but I can give it, and if my townspeople turn to me for this tribute to their most distinguished pioneer ...”