As she lay in bed, thinking in this vein, she allowed herself to wonder for the first time why her dear grandfather was being persecuted by the officers of the law—­by the Government of the United States, indeed, which should be just and merciful to all its people.  Of course he was innocent of any wrong-doing; Gran’pa Jim would never do anything to injure a human being, for he was goodness itself and had taught her to honor truth and righteousness ever since she could remember.  Never for a moment would she doubt him.  But it was curious, when she came to reflect upon it, that he would run away from his enemies instead of facing them bravely.  For many years he had hidden himself—­first in one place and then in another—­and at the first warning of discovery or pursuit would disappear and seek a new hiding-place.  For she now realized, in the light of her recent knowledge, that for many years Gran’pa Jim had been a fugitive from the law, and that for some unknown reason he dared not face his accusers.

Some people might consider this an evidence of guilt, but Mary Louise and Gran’pa Jim had been close comrades for two years and deep in her heart was the unalterable conviction that his very nature would revolt against crime of any sort.  Moreover—­always a strong argument in her mind—­her mother had steadfastly believed in her grandfather and had devoted herself to him to the exclusion of all else in her life, even neglecting her own daughter to serve her father.  Mamma Bee loved her, she well knew, yet Mary Louise had never enjoyed the same affectionate intercourse with her mother that she had with her grandfather, for Mamma Bee’s whole life seemed to center around the old Colonel.  This unusual devotion was proof enough to Mary Louise that her grandfather was innocent, but it did not untangle the maze.

Looking back over her past life, she could recall the many sudden changes of residence due to Colonel Weatherby’s desire to escape apprehension by the authorities.  They seemed to date from the time they had left that big city house, where the child had an especial nurse and there were lots of servants, and where her beautiful mother used to bend over her with a good-night kiss while arrayed in dainty ball costumes sparkling with jewels.  Mary Louise tried to remember her father, but could not, although she had been told that he died in that very house.  She remembered Gran’pa Jim in those days, however, only he was too busy to pay much attention to her.  Let’s see; was he called “Colonel Weatherby” in those days!  She could not recollect.  That name did not become familiar to her until long afterward.  Always he had been just “Gran’pa Jim” to her.  Yet that dreadful officer of the law who had questioned her in Beverly had called him “Hathaway—­James J. Hathaway.”  How absurd!

But where had she heard the name of Hathaway before?  She puzzled her brain to remember.  Did it belong to any of her schoolgirl friends?  Or was it—­