Irene, knowing more of the Hathaway family history than Mary Louise did, through the letter she had found and read, was often perplexed how to console her friend and still regard honesty and truth.  Any deception, even when practiced through the best of motives, was abhorrent to her nature, so she avoided speaking of the present affliction and led Mary Louise to look to a future life for the motherly companionship she had missed on earth.

“That,” said she, “is the thought that has always given me the most comfort.  We are both orphans, dear, and I’m sure your nature is as brave as my own and that you can bear equally well the loss of your parents.”

And Mary Louise was really brave and tried hard to bear her grief with patient resignation.  One thing she presently decided in her mind, although she did not mention it to Irene.  She must find Gran’pa Jim and go to him, wherever he might be.  Gran’pa Jim and her mother had been inseparable companions; Mary Louise knew that her own present sorrow could be nothing when compared with that of her grandfather.  And so it was her duty to find him and comfort him, to devote her whole life, as her mother had done, to caring for his wants and cheering his loneliness—­so far, indeed, as she was able to do.  Of course, no one could quite take the place of Mamma Bee.

She was thinking in this vein as she sat in the den with Irene that Saturday afternoon.  The chair-girl, who sewed beautifully, was fixing over one of Mary Louise’s black dresses while Mary Louise sat opposite, listlessly watching her.  The door into the hall was closed, but the glass door to the rear porch was wide open to let in the sun and air.  And this simple scene was the setting for the drama about to be enacted.

Mary Louise had her back half turned to the hall door, which Irene partially faced, and so it was that when the door opened softly and the chair-girl raised her head to gaze with startled surprise at someone who stood in the doorway, Mary Louise first curiously eyed her friend’s expressive face and then, rather languidly, turned her head to glance over her shoulder.

The next moment she sprang to her feet and rushed forward.

“Gran’pa Jim—­Oh, Gran’pa Jim!” she cried, and threw herself into the arms of a tall man who folded her to his breast in a close embrace.

For a while they stood there silent, while Irene dropped her eyes to her lap, deeming the reunion too sacred to be observed by another.  And then a little stir at the open porch door attracted her attention and with a shock of repulsion she saw Agatha Lord standing there with a cynical smile on her lovely face.  Softly the sash of the window was raised, and the maid Susan stood on the ground outside, leaned her elbows on the sill and quietly regarded the scene within the den.

The opening of the window arrested Colonel Weatherby’s attention.  He lifted his head and with a quick glance took in the situation.  Then, still holding his granddaughter in his arms, he advanced to the center of the room and said sternly, addressing Agatha: