nly yesterday. Then she
sat down and drew Bobby to her knees.

"So you are Robert Chesney, eh?" she asked.

The boy looked up into her face.

"Yes, grandmother," he said gravely.

"And of what are you thinking when you stare at me with such solemn
eyes?" she went on, trying to smile and speak naturally. There was
something in the boy's whole air and appearance so like his father that
she was much shaken by it.

Bobby had one of those direct impulses of childhood that resemble
inspiration.

"I was thinking that you're a quite young lady to be a grandmother," he
replied politely.

This was the beginning of a real friendship between the two, for Lady
Wychcote also had an inspiration. She rose abruptly, went to her
escritoire, and unlocking a little drawer, took out a small parcel
wrapped in silver paper.

"Robert," she said, "I think that what I'm going to give you will please
you very much." And now a very human, kindly smile flickered over her
thin lips as she added: "At least, it would please me if I were a
little boy. It's dangerous, it's real, and it's something a real man has
used."

Bobby took it from her. His face went pale with excitement. His fingers
fumbled over the wrapping in his eagerness.

"Is it ... is it ... a spear?" he managed.

"A good guess," said his grandmother; "but not _quite_ right...."

Then the last layer of paper came away, and in his hands was a little
Arab dagger, in a sheath crusted with coral and turquoise. He went red
now--and when he drew out the blade, and saw that it was indeed real and
dangerous, he had a breathless moment of utter stillness, then turned
and threw himself into Lady Wychcote's arms.

"Oh, thank you ... _thank_ you!" he cried. "I think you must be the most
splendid grandmother in the world!"

"It was your father's, when he was a lad ... like you," she murmured
rather indistinctly. As so often happens in life, the recrudescence of
maternal feeling for this grandson was stronger than what she had
originally felt for her own sons.

Sophy was relieved and glad over the turn that things had taken. She had
feared that the two strong wills might clash in some unfortunate way,
even at first.

When, later, Lady Wychcote suggested that the boy had "_rather_ an
American accent," and that an English tutor would, in her opinion, be
"advisable," Sophy acquiesced at once and said that she intended going
to Oxford to consult Cecil's old tutor, Mr. Greyson, on the s