f his grandfather partaking of a cup of steaming coffee rich with
country cream, and eating with the appetite of a boy a huge,
sugar-coated doughnut which his hostess assured him could not possibly
hurt him.

"They're the real old-fashioned kind, Mr. Kendrick," said she. "Raised
like bread, you know, and fried in lard we make ourselves in a way I
have so that not a bit of grease gets inside. My husband thinks they're
the only fit food to go with coffee."

"They are the most delicious food I ever ate, certainly, Madam Gray, and
I find myself agreeing with him, now that I taste them," declared Mr.
Kendrick, and Richard, disposing with zest of a particularly huge, light
specimen of Mrs. Gray's art, seconded his grandfather's appreciation.

They made a long call, Mr. Kendrick appearing to enjoy himself as
Richard could not remember seeing him do before. He and Mr. Gray found
many subjects to discuss with mutual interest, and the nodding of the
two heads in assent at frequent intervals proved how well they found
themselves agreeing.

Richard, as at the time of the Grays' brief visit at his own home,
devoted himself to the lady whom he always thought of as "Aunt Ruth,"
secretly dwelling on the hope that he might some day acquire the right
to call her by that pleasant title. He led her, by artful
circumlocutions, always tending toward one object, to speak of her
nieces and nephews, and when he succeeded in drawing from her certain
all too meagre news of Roberta, he exulted in his ardent soul, though he
did his best not to betray himself.

"Maybe," said she, quite suddenly, "you'd enjoy looking at the family
album. Robby and Ruth always get it out when they come here--they like
to see their father and mother the way they used to look. There's some
of themselves, too, though the photographs folks have now are too big to
go in an old-fashioned album like this, and the ones they've sent me
lately aren't in here."

Never did a modern young man accept so eagerly the chance to scan the
collection of curious old likenesses such as is found between the covers
of the now despised "album" of the days of their grandfathers. Richard
turned the pages eagerly, scanning them for faces he knew, and
discovered much satisfaction in one charming picture of Roberta's mother
at eighteen, because of its suggestion of the daughter.

"Eleanor was the beauty of the family, and is yet, I always say,"
asserted Aunt Ruth. "Robby's like her, they a