Colonel Weatherby was a man of exceptionally distinguished appearance, tall and dignified, with courtly manners and an air of prosperity that impressed the simple villagers with awe.  His snow-white hair and piercing dark eyes, his immaculate dress upon all occasions, the whispered comments on his ample deposits in the local bank, all contributed to render him remarkable among the three or four hundred ordinary inhabitants of Beverly, who, after his two years’ residence among them, scarcely knew more of him than is above related.  For Colonel Weatherby was an extremely reserved man and seldom deigned to exchange conversation with his neighbors.  In truth, he had nothing in common with them and even when he walked out with Mary Louise he merely acknowledged the greeting of those he met by a dignified nod of his stately head.

With Mary Louise, however, he would converse fluently and with earnestness, whether at home during the long evenings or on their frequent walks through the country, which were indulged in on Saturdays and holidays during the months that school was in session and much more often during vacations.  The Colonel owned a modest automobile which he kept in the stable and only drove on rare occasions, although one of Uncle Eben’s duties was to keep the car in apple-pie order.  Colonel Weatherby loved best to walk and Mary Louise enjoyed their tramps together because Gran’pa Jim always told her so many interesting things and was such a charming companion.  He often developed a strain of humor in the girl’s society and would relate anecdotes that aroused in her spontaneous laughter, for she possessed a keen sense of the ludicrous.  Yes, Gran’pa Jim was really funny, when in the mood, and as jolly a comrade as one would wish.

He was fond of poetry, too, and the most severe trial Mary Louise was forced to endure was when he carried a book of poems in his pocket and insisted on reading from it while they rested in a shady nook by the roadside or on the bank of the little river that flowed near by the town.  Mary Louise had no soul for poetry, but she would have endured far greater hardships rather than forfeit the genial companionship of Gran’pa Jim.

It was only during these past two years that she had come to know her grandfather so intimately and to become as fond of him as she was proud.  Her earlier life had been one of so many changes that the constant shifting had rather bewildered her.  First she remembered living in a big city house where she was cared for by a nurse who was never out of sight or hearing.  There it was that “Mamma Bee”—­Mrs. Beatrice Burrows—­ appeared to the child at times as a beautiful vision and often as she bent over her little daughter for a good-night kiss the popular society woman, arrayed in evening or ball costume, would seem to Mary Louise like a radiant angel descended straight from heaven.

She knew little of her mother in those days, which were quite hazy in memory because she was so young.  The first change she remembered was an abrupt flitting from the splendid city house to a humble cottage in a retired village.  There was no maid now, nor other servant whatever.  Mamma Bee did the cooking and sweeping, her face worn and anxious, while Gran’pa Jim walked the floor of the little sitting room day by day, only pausing at times to read to Mary Louise stories from her nursery books.