Mrs. Gray lifted a beaming face and smiled up at her long lost son from under her quaint Quaker-like bonnet. “You haven’t asked me, Alfred, why my name is Gray?”
“No,” he acknowledged, “I supposed that you would tell me in time if you had married again.”
She shook her head. “No, I never did. Because I always dressed in grey, friends began to call me that, and when I came here once more searching for some trace of you, I thought I would use that name; and I am glad that I did, for by so doing I won the love of my granddaughter. She might otherwise have cared merely from a sense of duty.” Then, as they turned in between two stone gate posts, the man said: “How strange it seems to be, coming back to our old home. I thought it had been sold for taxes long ago.”
“It was nearly sold,” Mrs. Gray replied, “but I heard of it in time to pay the back taxes and keep it. At first I thought, when I couldn’t find you, that I did not care to own it, for every corner and tree reminded me of you when you were a boy, but now I am so glad that I have kept our old home. It is rather dilapidated,” she added brightly, “but in a week or so we can have it all in readiness before we tell the children a word about it. Then, when Geraldine is strong enough to be moved, we will bring her over here.”
“How pleased she will be,” Mr. Morrison declared. “I will go to Dorchester tomorrow and see about selling our other place and have the furniture sent down here.”
“I thought we’d let Alfred have the room that was yours when you were a boy,” Mrs. Gray continued, “and that sunny bay window room which overlooks the garden is the one I have planned for Geraldine.”
“Mother,” the smiling man protested, “you know how completely I have been spoiling our girl. You aren’t going to do the same thing, are you?”
The little old lady shook her head. “Geraldine is a changed lassie. She won’t spoil now.”
“And it’s all due to your loving influence, I am sure,” Mr. Morrison declared.
There were twinkles in the eyes that looked up at him. “I can’t take all of the credit,” Mrs. Gray replied. “I think someone else had even more to do with the change in Geraldine than I have had.”
She was thinking of Jack Lee, but at that time she did not care to tell her son about him.
The old house was one of those charming places, pillared in front, with wide halls and large, many windowed rooms that could easily be transformed into just the kind of a home that Geraldine liked best.
Busy days followed for Mrs. Gray and her son. Then, three weeks later, Doctor Carson announced that Geraldine was strong enough to be moved.
So well had the secret been kept that the lassie supposed that they were going to Dorchester.
Geraldine, supposing that they were about to leave for the city, could not understand why her friends had not called to say good-bye.
“Perhaps they will be waiting at the station,” she said to Alfred when they were all in the big car, with Danny O’Neil at the wheel.
“Like as not,” the unsuspecting lad replied.
The Colonel glanced at his watch. “Morrison,” he said, “it’s a whole hour before train time. Would you mind if we went farther out on the Willowbend Road? I have a little business there that I would like to attend to.”
“It’s all right with me,” the other man replied, and Alfred, happening to look at his father, was sure that he had turned away to hide a smile.
Ten minutes later the car turned into the circling drive and stopped in front of the pillared porch of an old colonial home.
“What a pleasant place this is,” Geraldine said. “Who lives here, Colonel Wainright?”
“Some good friends of mine,” that gentleman replied as he prepared to leave the car. Then, as though it were a sudden afterthought, he added: “I wish you would all come in for one moment. We’ll have plenty of time to get the train.”
It seemed odd to the girl that they should call upon strangers just before leaving town, but she was too fond of the Colonel not to willingly do whatever he suggested, and so, leaning upon his proffered arm, she slowly climbed the wide steps.
To Geraldine’s surprise, the door was opened by Susan, and when they entered the wide hall she saw Matilda, who was beaming upon them. What could it mean? Glancing into the attractive room on either side, the girl was amazed to see the furniture which had been in their city home. Then suddenly she understood and, turning a radiant face toward her father, she exclaimed: “Oh, Dad, we aren’t going to Dorchester, are we? I’m so glad! But do tell me, how did you happen to find this wonderful place? I just adore old-fashioned colonial houses.”
“It’s where I was born,” her father replied. “Your grandmother and I have been planning it all to surprise you and Alfred.”
“Well, it sure is a surprise to me,” the lad declared, “and I’m bully glad that we’re going to stay in the country.”
“Do the girls know about it?” Geraldine asked, but before anyone could reply there sounded in the driveway the ringing of a cowbell, the tooting of horns and the gay laughter of young people.
Doris was the first to enter the hall of the Morrison home when the door opened, but a troop of laughing boys and girls followed closely.
“Oh, Geraldine,” Doris exclaimed, “isn’t this a grand and glorious surprise. We didn’t know a thing about it until this morning. We had supposed that you were going to Dorchester, and we planned being at the station to say good-bye when someone phoned Jack for us to come here instead.”
“We are all so glad that you are to stay in Sunnyside,” Merry declared. Tears gathered in the lovely eyes of the girl, who was still not strong, and Jack, noticing this, held out his arm.
“Princess Geraldine,” he said, “permit me to lead you to your throne, where you may receive the homage of your rejoicing subjects.”
A moment later, when the happy girl was seated near the fireplace, with Jack standing at her side, Doris, looking about the group, exclaimed: “Where is Danny O’Neil? Why isn’t he here with us?”
“I think he went to the garage,” Alfred said. “I’ll bring him in.” The two lads soon entered the house together and Alfred’s arm was thrown over the other boy’s shoulder to assure him that he considered him a friend and an equal. Doris walked up to them and, holding a long envelope before the Irish boy, she exclaimed: “Mister Danny O’Neil, if you can guess what this envelope contains, you may have it.”
“Why, Doris, how should I know?” the mystified lad replied. “I never had a letter written to me by anyone.”
“Well, you certainly have one now,” Doris declared, “but I’m going to read it out to the entire company, so please lend me your ears.” Then, opening the important looking envelope, she read:
“Dorchester Art Institute, March the first.
“Mr. Danny O’Neil: We are glad to inform you that the carving which you submitted in our recent contest has been awarded first place, and as a result you will receive a scholarship in our institution for one year from this date, all of your expenses to be paid. We advise you to come at once as new classes will be formed on Monday, March the fifth.”
The expression on the face of the Irish lad was first puzzled and then radiant. “Doris,” he said, “you entered that carving in the contest and I didn’t know a thing about it.”
“Oh, Danny,” Merry exclaimed as she held out her hand, “I congratulate you for all of us.”
A little later Doris found the lad standing alone by a window gazing out at the trees that were showing a haze of silvery green.
He looked up with a welcoming smile. “Doris,” he said, “I’m thinking how pleased my mother would be.” Then he added: “I’m going to try hard to succeed, Good Angel. I want you to be proud of me.”
When the others were gone, Jack remained to spend the evening with Alfred, so he said, but during the long twilight he and Geraldine sat before the fireplace and the girl listened to the lad’s dreams of his future on a cattle ranch, and her heart was made happy when Jack said earnestly, “You’d love it, Geraldine. From now on I am going to hope that you will be there with me.”
THE END.