It is not for a moment to be supposed that Trolley appeared in the first chapter simply because he was picturesque. He was undoubtedly handsome, and had a remarkable gift for elegant attitudes. He would pose as dignity and wisdom personified in the president’s arm chair, or stretch himself in careless grace on Aunt Charlotte’s choicest divan, and had even been known to make a mantel ornament of himself in an aspiring mood.

But above all else Trolley had a mind of his own. For example he had chosen his home. He began life at the Graysons’ on Grayson avenue, but as soon as he was old enough to choose for himself he took up his abode with the President of the Seminary.

Aunt Charlotte did not particularly care for cats, and furthermore did not covet anything that was her neighbor’s, so again and again Trolley was sent back, all to no purpose, and at length he was allowed to have his way.

This was just at the time when the Graysons and some others were bringing suit to prevent the laying of a trolley line on the avenue, and between the progressive people who wished more rapid transportation than the stage which passed back and forth once an hour, and the old-fashioned residents who feared to have the beauty of their street destroyed, and their quiet disturbed by clanging bells and buzzing wheels, feeling had grown exceedingly bitter.

Dr. Barrows himself had no special interest in the matter, but some members of his family were warm supporters of the railway, and when the suit was decided in its favor one of his nephews named the cat in honor of the event.

As Trolley he was known from that hour, and he grew so large and handsome that even Aunt Charlotte came to take pride in him. He was amiable in disposition, but distant in manner to all except Caro, who had won his heart as he had won hers, at first sight.

He forgot his dignity and raced with her in the garden like a frolicsome kitten, when she was tired he allowed himself to be made a pillow of, and to all her confidences he listened with a sympathetic purr. In fact he did all he could to keep her from being homesick.

There were of course times when his own affairs demanded his attention. Bobby Brown a yellow cat who lived two doors away needed an occasional setting down for instance, and other matters of this kind sometimes kept him away for a day. It was on one of these occasions that Caro quite tired out with searching for him sat down on the doorstep and began to miss mamma and the boys—“just dreadfully.”

“I am going to do some shopping; do you want to come?” asked her grandfather’s voice behind her.

The clouds flew from her face in a minute, for shopping with grandfather always meant something interesting, if only a glass of ice cream soda.

As they walked down town together, Caro chattered away without a pause.

“Are you going to buy something for me, grandpa?” she asked as they entered a large grocery.

“I want to see some wax candles in different colors,” Dr. Barrows said to the clerk who came forward.

“Why that sounds like Christmas or a birthday,” exclaimed Caro.

But the candles brought out were too large for Christmas trees, or cakes. They were of all colors, and some were plain, others fluted.

“What color do you prefer, Caro?” her grandfather asked.

It was difficult to decide among so many pretty ones, and she hung over them with a finger on her lip and an expression of great earnestness on her face.

“The pink is lovely—and so is the blue, only not quite so pretty,—and the green, and—yes I like the violet too—”

“We’ll have to take one of each, I see,” said the president; and this greatly simplified the matter. Six candles were selected—blue, pink, green, red, violet and yellow, and these were done up in a white paper parcel and handed to Caro.

“Now grandpa, what are we going to do with them?” she asked when they were on the street again.

“That is a secret.”Caro gave a little jump of excitement. “I love secrets;” “Please tell me what it is.”

“Then it wouldn’t be a secret any longer.”

“But—two people can know a secret, and I promise truly, bluely, I’ll not tell.”

“I’ll see about it when we get home,” her grandfather replied, thereby causing her to be in such a flutter of anticipation that as he told her, he might as well have tried to keep step with a yellow butterfly.

When at last they reached the study, Caro looked on with deep interest while her grandfather unlocked a cabinet and took from it a small silver candlestick of beautiful design.

“How pretty! Is it to put the candles in?”

Dr. Barrows glanced up at the portrait of a sweet-faced young woman in an old-fashioned gown, as he replied.

“This candlestick belonged to your grandmother, Caro, when she was a little girl, and now I am going to give it to another little girl who has her name, and who sometimes reminds me of her. You are to put one of the candles in it and put it on your dressing table, and when the gas is out after you go to bed you can have a little candle-light to keep you from being lonely.”

“You are the dearest, sweetest, goodest grandpa in the world!” Caro exclaimed with a ferocious hug. “The dear little candlestick! I’ll never be lonesome any more.”

Aunt Charlotte shook her head and called it a compromise, when the plan was explained to her, but made no real objection to it.

There was a faculty meeting that evening in the president’s study, and two of the members had arrived and were talking with their host when a shrill voice was heard crying: “Go away Jane, I will call him! O grandpa!”

Dr. Barrows rose hastily and left the room, saying: “Excuse me gentlemen, my little granddaughter is calling me.”

From the hall he had a vision of Caro—her small red slippers peeping out from her long white gown, her curly head looking over the stair rail. Behind her was Jane, the upstairs maid whispering sternly, “Come back Caro this minute, you are a naughty girl!”

“I just want you to see my candle lighted, grandpa,” Caro said hopping down three steps to meet him, and taking his hand while Jane retired shaking her head. She stood in great awe of the president, and in her eyes a faculty meeting was almost as sacred as a church service.

“You can turn the gas out, grandpa,” Caro said, as after leading the way into her room, she merrily kicked off the red slippers and bounded into the middle of the bed.

From the door Jane saw the president laughing as he stooped to kiss the saucy face.

Caro snuggled down beneath the cover and when the gas was turned out, from the dressing table came the clear, soft light of the candle.

“It is my little candle-star, grandpa, and I don’t mind the dark now, ’cause I can see it, and it is soft and nice.”

“You are a funny child, Caro,” her grandfather said, stroking her hair. “Suppose you try to be a little candle yourself.”

“Why how could I?” Caro sat up much interested.

“We’ll talk about it to-morrow; they are waiting for me in the study, I must go.”

“Well I think I’ll be a pink one,” remarked Caro meditatively, and Dr. Barrows went down stairs with a smile on his lips.