Before Mary Louise went to bed that night, she wrote a long letter to Danny, a letter full of love and trust, a letter explaining the whole thing and taking all the blame for the misunderstanding that had arisen. She told him of her grandfather’s mental condition, but did not tell him of the possibility of its becoming more and more serious. She wanted Danny to have no fears concerning her welfare during his absence. She wished him God-speed and assured him of her undying devotion. The letter took her hours to write and when it was completed she slipped on a cloak and quietly letting herself out the front door, ran to the corner to put it safely in the mail box. It would have gone just as soon if she had waited to give it to the postman in the morning but she felt she must let nothing interfere with its safe departure. Now Danny would be sure to receive it before sailing for China. At least, he would start with the knowledge that she loved him as much as ever and the cloud would be between them no longer.

Mary Louise had never been on the street alone at midnight and even to run the one block to the corner seemed quite an adventure for her.

“What would Danny say?” was in her thoughts as she crept back into the house and up the stairs to her room.

The weeks that followed were anxious ones for her. The condition of Colonel Hathaway became more serious. He was determined to accomplish certain things in regard to his property and that meant many trips to the business end of the town and more exercise and excitement than was good for him. Danny’s absence seemed to put him entirely out of the Colonel’s mind. He rarely mentioned him and then only in the most casual way. His obsession became that his dear old friend Peter Conant was trying to make him change his will and leave all of his property to Irene Macfarlane. He became very indignant at the mention of Peter’s name and reviled him constantly. This grieved Mary Louise exceedingly, but she could not but confess that she was glad Grandpa Jim was picking on some one besides her Danny.

The day of Danny’s sailing came and went. She had received a letter from him every day since he left Dorfield, sometimes written on the train, sometimes at a wayside station. On the day of sailing, came a telegram saying he had received her letter and was happier than he had been for a long time. She then resigned herself to the fact that she could not hear from him for weeks and weeks. It takes a long time to get to China and a long time for letters to come from there.

The girls were lovely to her. All of them knew the trials under which she was living, but they respected her silence in regard to her suffering and nobody said a word. All the time she could spare from her grandfather she spent at the Higgledy Piggledy Shop.

“It is so nice and cheerful and busy here,” she said to Josie one day. “I used to think my home was beautiful, but now it seems kind of like a great mausoleum. Any more bonnets for me to trim?”

Josie nodded cheerfully.

“Yes, two more! You seem to have the knack of making mourning bonnets look cheerful. How’s Colonel Hathaway feeling these days, Mary Louise?”

Josie was the one person to whom Mary Louise could talk concerning her affairs. She had wanted to take Irene into her confidence too but, since her grandfather had made the absurd charges against his old friend Peter Conant, she had hesitated to bring the subject up with Irene. Irene felt a certain estrangement, but her faith in Mary Louise was strong and true and she was sure it would all come right in the end. She could not help seeing the burden her little friend was bearing and was determined not to add to it one iota with foolish hurt feelings and small jealousies, although her feelings were a little hurt and she was a tiny bit jealous that Josie should be the one to share the troubles of Mary Louise. She knew it was the case because often she found the two girls whispering together in a corner of the shop and always, when there was an errand to be done, Mary Louise and Josie would go together to attend to it. Irene only hoped she could keep her hurt feelings from the knowledge of Mary Louise and never let anyone know that the green-eyed monster, Jealousy, had her in his clutch.

At home it was dismal enough.

It was plain to see that Colonel Hathaway was failing, failing not only in mind but in body. His step had become slow and faltering and his once steady hand shook with palsy. Still, he made his way to the business part of town every day and was occupied constantly with his affairs. Peter Conant had offered repeatedly to help him in any way, but had been rebuffed so decidedly that he had become offended.

“James Hathaway can’t speak to me as he did and not hurt me,” he had declared to his wife.

“But, Peter, you and Irene both said he was evidently not quite himself. You should remember that.”

“That’s all very well to say, but he is smart enough to go down town every day and sell stocks and bonds. He ought to be smart enough to know he can’t keep his friends if he is going to abuse them as he abused me. I didn’t even know what he was talking about.”

“Neither did he, goose!” insisted Aunt Hannah, but Uncle Peter still refused to allow James Hathaway to revile him without making a protest.

“You thought and freely said that Danny Dexter was too quick to get angry with the Colonel,” Aunt Hannah continued. “You said he should have sense enough to see that the old gentleman was not quite himself, and now here you are raising Cain about a slight rudeness on his part.”

“Rudeness indeed! He said he could attend to his affairs without interference from me. I call that more than a slight rudeness. I’ll see myself offering my services to him again. He is presuming on his age to behave as he is doing.”

“Well! Well! You are behaving as though you were no age at all—not even six years old,” declared Aunt Hannah, removing her ear trumpet and laughing at her husband. When Aunt Hannah considered an argument had gone far enough she simply removed her trumpet from her ear and that ended the matter as far as she was concerned.

In spite of Mr. Peter Conant’s stern remarks about never offering his services to Jim Hathaway again, that very night he was not only offering them but they were being accepted and that most gratefully, if not by the Colonel, at least by Mary Louise.

The old gentleman had come home from his daily visit to the broker’s offices and had seemed a little steadier on his legs than of late, a little more cheerful and less inclined to hunt for trouble than had been the case for the last few months. He sat down in his big chair and Mary Louise took her accustomed place on the stool at his feet. She had brought home from the Higgledy Piggledy a little crÊpe bonnet which she had been unable to finish that afternoon and, since it was promised for the following day, she determined to work on it a while at home. There were only a few stitches to be put in and a bit of ruching to be tacked across the front.

The old man and the young girl sat thus for a long time. Mary Louise was busily plying her needle and the Colonel dozed and waked and dozed again.

“Is that a bonnet for yourself, my dear?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“Oh no, Grandpa Jim! This is a widow’s bonnet.” “Yes, I know! I remember your mother wore one, although I did not approve, not at all—but, my dear, you are a widow now.”

“Oh no!” cried Mary Louise hastily. “I’m not a widow, Grandpa Jim. My husband is just away for a little while, not for all time.”

“You are mistaken. He will never come back.” The old man spoke with curt precision.

Mary Louise hesitated. She could not decide whether it would be better to combat her grandfather’s statement or whether, perhaps, it was just as well to let him have his way in the matter.

Suddenly the bell pealed forth.

“Callers! Do you want to see anyone, Grandpa Jim?”

“Yes! Yes! Let them come in, just so it is not that old reprobate Peter Conant.”

“Oh, Grandpa Jim. You can’t mean dear Uncle Peter!”

“Of course I do. I was never so fooled by anybody in my life as that man. He is underhanded and sly, and—”

As Peter Conant was famed far and near for his honesty, this made Mary Louise smile in spite of herself. As well accuse Irene Macfarlane herself of dishonesty or even Grandpa Jim.

“A telespatch, missy,” said Eben, limping into the room. “A telespatch collect fer Mrs. D. Dexter, an’ the boy say sign right thar.”

Mary Louise scrambled to her feet.

“In a minute, Uncle Eben! The boy will have to wait until I read my telegram. Why it’s a wireless!” she cried excitedly. “A wireless from Danny! Just think, Uncle Eben, a message from way out in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. It just says: ‘Love, Danny.’ But that is enough. Oh, Grandpa Jim, do you know this is a wireless from Danny?”

“You mean your husband? A message from the spirit world! Because he is dead, you know—as dead as dead——”

The old man stood up, looking wildly in the eyes of his granddaughter.

“I know he is dead—drowned, I think—because, last night while I slept, I saw him in the water—and if he is not dead why are you making a widow’s bonnet for yourself?”

Suddenly Colonel Hathaway crumpled up and lay in a pitiful heap on the floor. Mary Louise, her nerves overwrought by the long strain under which she had been living, gave a shrill scream, but immediately controlled herself.

“Run quick for Mr. Conant, Uncle Eben, and get Miss Irene too—tell her I need her. I’ll telephone the doctor myself. Call Aunt Sally to come to Grandpa Jim.”

Colonel Hathaway was stretched out on the rug in front of the fire with Mary Louise doing what she could to restore consciousness to the tired brain, when Dr. Coles arrived.

The old man was carried to his room and placed in his large old tester bed.

“I rather thought this might happen but did not think it would be so soon,” the doctor told Mary Louise. “Was there anything to excite him especially?” he asked.

Mary Louise told him of the wireless message she had just received from her husband and of the statement her grandfather had made that it was a message from the spirit world.

“Of course, it was proof that my husband was well and thinking of me. That was all—but Grandpa Jim takes such strange notions lately and there is no turning him from them. He said he had dreamed he saw Danny in the water but that is no indication of an accident.” “Certainly not!” assured Dr. Coles. “When did your husband sail?”

“Ten days ago!”

“What was the name of his boat?”

“The Spokane!”

Dr. Coles said nothing but in his kind eyes there was a depth of concern for the girl. He looked at her a moment and then turned to the inert form of the old man.

“His pulse is fairly good and I fancy he will be coming around pretty soon,” he said briskly. “I am going to send you a nurse immediately.”

“Oh, don’t send a nurse! Please let me attend to him. I am as strong as can be. You don’t know how much I can do.”

“Ah, yes, I do, but we don’t want to have you doing all you can do. I really think a nurse for a few days will be best.”

“And Irene Macfarlane is here to help me. You don’t know what a help Irene is although she can’t get out of her chair. She answers the telephone and she does more little odd jobs and Grandpa Jim has always liked her more than anybody—until—until—but perhaps she had better not try to help in his room because he has had a strange obsession of late about Irene and dear Uncle Peter Conant.”

“Is Miss Macfarlane here now?”

“Yes, Dr. Coles! Uncle Peter Conant and Irene are both in the dining room waiting to see what I need.”

“The telephone is in the dining room?”

“Yes!”

“Well, Mrs. Dexter, I’ll get you to sit here a moment by your grandfather while I go telephone. He is coming around soon I think, but there is nothing for you to do except sit near him. Call me if you need me.”