“Grandpa tell me about the Graysons please.”

Dr. Barrows hesitated, for it was to him a sad story. He and Caro sat together on the wide hall sofa watching the wood fire that had been started for the first time that afternoon. Close to the hearth Trolley lay at full length washing one of his front paws with a professional air.

“I am dreadfully afraid it is going to rain,” Caro said.

“Why my dear it is as clear as clear can be!” her grandfather exclaimed.

“It is sure to if Trolley washes behind his ears,” she answered wisely, “But do tell me please about the Graysons.”

So, as he did not like to refuse anything to that curly head now leaning against his shoulder, her grandfather told her about the handsome Miss Elizabeth who when only a girl had taken charge of her father’s house and given a mother’s care to her young brother and sister.

“What were their names?” asked Caro.

“Walter and Annette.”

“And they used to play with Charlie and Alice; didn’t they?”

“Yes,” answered her grandfather, with a sigh, “Those were happy days. Well after a while Mr. Grayson the father died, and then little Annette, and there were only Miss Elizabeth and Walter left in that great house. All Miss Elizabeth’s love was lavished on this brother and he was worthy of it—a wonderfully fine fellow.”

Something in her grandfather’s tone caused Caro to ask, “Did he die too?”

“No, but in the midst of his college course he lost his health. It was a strange, strange thing, for he seemed perfectly well and strong, and ever since then he has been growing more helpless each year.”

“And couldn’t anybody cure him?”

“No one; although his sister took him to the wisest physicians in this country and abroad. They were away for a long time but now they have come home and have shut themselves in with their sorrow.”

“Marjorie said they weren’t nice,” put in Caro.

“Marjorie ought not to say that; she does not understand. It was the trolley line on Grayson avenue that made the trouble. Your Uncle Horace was president of the railway company, and this made the Graysons angry with him, and it caused a break between the families.”

Dr. Barrows did not tell how he had attempted to act as peacemaker and had been received by Miss Elizabeth with a cold disdain which showed him that he was included in the bitter feeling she had toward his brother. And what troubled him most was that in this way his beloved seminary had lost one of its best friends and most generous contributors.

“Miss Elizabeth is a good woman,” he added; “she built our beautiful chapel in memory of her father and sister,—she can be generous and kind, and I for one cannot speak hardly of her, knowing her great sorrow. I only wish I could do something for her.”“Grandpa I have seen Walter, and I think he is very nice looking. I saw him over the fence at Marjorie’s and—”

“My dear I think you’d better keep away from the fence. I fear you have been prying,” was the reply, and Caro did not tell the rest of her story.

After she was in bed that night she lay awake for a long time watching the little candle-star and thinking of the young man who would never walk again. Her grandfather’s tone in speaking of him had impressed her deeply. Walter must be one of those sad, lonely people who needed a little cheer, and she wished so much she could do something for him. Just before she fell asleep an idea came into her head.

Trolley—a vision of graceful curves—was watching some sparrows quarreling together in the top of a maple tree next day when Caro pounced upon him.

“You are going to be a candle and take a little cheer to a person who is lonely—at least I think he is, and if I were lonely I’d like to have you come to see me, for you are a great comfort.”Trolley amiably allowed himself to be gathered up into her arms, taking the precaution however to fasten his claws securely in the shoulder of her red jacket.

It was very quiet around the seminary when Caro with the cat made a short cut across the campus to the avenue. A few minutes earlier on her way home from market with Aunt Charlotte, she had caught a glimpse as they passed the Grayson house, of the muffled figure in the invalid chair far back near the greenhouses.

“I do hope he is still there, Trolley,” she said, beginning to feel a little breathless, for her burden was by no means light. “And I hope we won’t meet a dog, for you’ll be sure to run if we do,” she added.

The Graysons’ gate was reached however without accident, no dog appeared, and the invalid was still where she had seen him, but as she went up the gravel walk Caro began to wish she had not come. She almost expected to hear Miss Elizabeth calling to her to know what she was doing there.

Walter Grayson sat alone in the sunshine, looking straight before him at a pot of great curly white Chrysanthemums, and as Caro made no noise in crossing the grass he was not conscious of her approach until a deep drawn sigh at his elbow caused him to turn with a start.

It would have been impossible to carry Trolley another step; too much out of breath to speak, and with cheeks which matched her jacket, she rested his weight on the broad arm of the chair while she unhooked his front paws from her shoulder. Walter watched her with very evident surprise.

“He sticks dreadfully,” she said, struggling with the burr-like paws.

“I should say so;” the detaching process was rather funny, and the invalid smiled.

Caro was feeling a little shy, and the smile put her at her ease. She had lived all her life among people who loved and petted her, and it did not enter her mind that she could be unwelcome anywhere unless she was naughty.

“I thought maybe you’d like to see him,” she explained.

“He is very handsome; is he your cat?”

“Why just see! He likes you,” Caro exclaimed, as after a few preliminary turns, Trolley curled himself up on the soft rugs and began to purr, thus expressing his unqualified approval of this resting place.

“Aren’t you the little girl I saw on the fence the other day? Why did you run away?”

Caro laughed; “I don’t know,” she said; and then feeling that her presence to-day needed to be explained more fully, she added, “I thought maybe you’d like to see Trolley, because he is such a comfort to me when I am lonely.”

“And did you think I was lonely?” There was a cloud on the young man’s face as he spoke.

“I thought you must be,” she said simply, “because you can’t go everywhere.”

“Then why are you lonely? You can go where you please.”

“But I miss mamma and papa and the boys sometimes, and then—” she leaned against his chair and spoke in a confidential tone, “I’m afraid of the dark.”

“So am I,” Walter remarked gravely.

“Are you? I didn’t know grown up people ever were—but if you’ll just get a candle you won’t be—any more. The dark is very nice when you can see it.”

As Walter seemed interested, watching her gravely as he stroked Trolley, Caro went on to explain more fully about the candle, and how her grandfather had said she could be one herself. “And so,” she concluded, “I thought Trolley might be a candle too, and bring you a little cheer.”

“I am much obliged. What do you say his name is?” Walter asked.

“Cousin Charlie named him for the trolley cars; wasn’t that funny? And he used to live here you know—that is why I thought you would like to see him. He came to our house and just would stay, though Aunt Charlotte sent him back ever so many times.”

“I believe I do recall something of the kind. He was one of my sister’s pets.”

“Do you suppose she’d like to see him?” Caro asked.

A smile flitted across Walter’s face as he replied, “I really don’t know; she is out this morning.”

The conversation was brought to an end by the appearance of Thompson, who was no doubt greatly surprised to find a little girl and a striped cat with his master.

“I think I’d better go,” Caro said, “Aunt Charlotte might want me, but Trolley can stay awhile if you’d like to have him.”

Trolley as if to expostulate against being disturbed, tucked his head almost out of sight and curled up tighter than before. No one could have had the heart to disturb him.

“She is the child we saw on the fence the other day, Thompson,” Mr. Grayson explained as Caro ran off.

“Yes, sir;” Thompson replied, watching till the red jacket disappeared in the distance; “She’s visiting here—she’s Dr. Barrow’s granddaughter; I have seen her playing about. Shall I take you down through the garden sir?”

As he was wheeled along the sunny path there was a smile on Walter’s face. Caro had been right, he was lonely, and after the first moment he had not resented her sympathy, and now the pressure of Trolley’s very substantial frame against his arm, the thought of the little girl’s face as she told about her candle, gave him a new sense of companionship. When he had said he too was afraid of the dark, he was thinking of the future which once had been so bright to him, and over which the clouds had gathered so heavily; but a little cheer had found its way to his heart, and he could smile.

“Thompson, you needn’t mention it to Miss Elizabeth,—the child having been here I mean—it might annoy her.”

“No sir;” was the reply. “And I hope she’ll come again,” he added to himself, for he did not approve of the dreary, shut-in life led by his master.