Miss Grayson rejoiced in her brother’s unusual cheerfulness, and when she was called away for a few days to a neighboring city on business she left with the less reluctance. Home had after all proved the best place for him, she thought.

She was gone several days, and at the last minute after telegraphing that she would be at home at eight in the evening, she found she could take an earlier train that arrived at three. There was no time for anything but a hurried drive to the station, and she decided, it would be just as well to surprise Walter. How glad he would be to see her five hours ahead of time! She felt quite happy over the thought as she stepped from the train at Charmington.

There was of course no one to meet her, and as the day was pleasant and the distance short she walked home. She might have taken the street cars if her feeling on the subject had not made it impossible.

It was only natural that the servant who opened the door for her should seem surprised, but Miss Elizabeth observed an odd hesitation in his manner when in reply to her questions he said Mr. Grayson was in the library.

To the library she hastened, and as she went there came to her astonished ears the strains of The Last Rose of Summer,—for years that music box had been untouched—and mingled with it was a sound like children’s voices. Before her on a chair lay an unfamiliar scarlet jacket with other articles of outdoor apparel, and from the floor a pair of small but saucy looking rubber shoes forced themselves upon her vision. What did it mean—was she dreaming?

At the door she paused. In front of the wood fire blazing brightly at one end of the spacious room, Walter’s couch was drawn and around him in attitudes of eager interest were three children. They were evidently absorbed in the story he was telling with an animation his sister had thought never to see again.Strewn upon the floor were photographs, and on a table a costly illustrated book on birds—one of her brother’s old favorites—lay open; but at present everything else was forgotten in the interest of the story which seemed to be one of adventure, for there was frequent mention of bears. This much Miss Grayson’s bewildered mind took in.

And this was the lonely invalid to whom she had hastened home! Certainly he was not missing her, for she stood there quite unobserved. And who were these children who had brought such a light to his eyes? All her devotion had failed to do as much for him. Turning she saw Thompson hovering uneasily in the distance, and swept down upon him.

“Who are those children in the library?” she demanded. Miss Grayson was exceedingly stately and Thompson felt abashed.

“Why Miss Elizabeth they’re just some children—”

“I see that; I asked who they are and what they are doing here?”

“Well you see Miss Elizabeth it looked like Mr. Walter was mighty lonesome to-day and it was too damp to be on the ground, so I just took the liberty of asking them in to amuse him. It looks like there’s not much for him to do.”

“Did Mr. Grayson tell you to ask them?”

“No m’m, but he seemed right glad to see them. It has cheered him up considerable.” The sound of laughter from the library emphasized this.

“But who are they?” Miss Grayson asked again. Thompson was very trying to her, and it was only because he suited her brother so well that she kept him.

“I don’t know exactly, ma’m; they are some kin of Dr. Barrows over at the seminary I believe.”

This was more than she could stand. Telling herself that such excitement must be bad for Walter she swept back to the library. The last notes of music had died away, and Caro heard the rustle of her dress and turned.

Miss Elizabeth had thrown back her fur collar, in her face was an unusual glow, she was very handsome Caro thought.

The eyes of the others followed hers, and for a few seconds they all gazed at the lady in silence. Then Walter found his voice:

“Why Elizabeth! I did not expect you so early,” he exclaimed.

“I found I could get off sooner than I thought when I telegraphed. I fear you are tiring yourself,” she added coming to his side and bending over him, entirely ignoring the children.

Caro rose; “I ’spect we’d better go,” she said. “It is a lovely story, but if you are tired we can come some other time.”

“I am not tired, Caro,” Walter answered, taking her hand, “but perhaps you’d better go now, and as you say we will finish the story another time.” They smiled at each other in a way that expressed a world of friendly confidence.

Without another word Miss Grayson turned and left the room. She felt she was a marplot, and yet—those children—what else could she have done? As she went up stairs the sounds of laughter followed her; she wished she had not hurried home.

She did not mention the children when she returned to her brother after they had gone, but talked of business and other matters, making an effort to act as if nothing unusual had happened.

After dinner when they were alone together before the fire, Walter spoke: “Elizabeth there is something I want very much.”

She smoothed his hair caressingly from his forehead as she replied, “You know dear if it is anything I can give you, you shall have it.”

“But this will be hard for you;” Walter hesitated, then added, “It is my old friends I want.”

She caught her breath; “I don’t understand,” she said.

Then her brother told her about Caro’s visit with Trolley. “It has made me feel,” he continued, “as I have thought about it since, that I have been living very selfishly. My life as I used to think of it has to be sure, been spoiled, but there are still small things I might do—to make a little cheer, as Caro says—and to begin with I want my friends again. I want to forget—I want you to forget—all that has been unpleasant in the past.”“And you think they will be willing to come back to you, do you?” Miss Elizabeth asked bitterly.

“Yes, I think they will,” he said simply.

Miss Grayson had often told herself there was nothing she would not do for her brother, but had she dreamed of anything like this? Her proud heart had a fierce battle to fight.

“I shan’t ever be Miss Elizabeth again when we dress up; I don’t like her at all,” Caro said as the children walked down the garden path together.

“I told you she was cross,” Marjorie replied.

For lack of a better confidant Trolley heard the story that night. “I don’t blame you one bit for not wanting to live with her, for I ’spect she just scared you to death,” was Caro’s conclusion emphasized by a vigorous hug.