"Straight as a string, Aunt Milly."

"All right! Good-by!"

"Good-by!"

He passed through the gate, and down the street toward the center of
the village. It was the noon recess and he was on his way back to
school where he must report at one-fifteen sharp. He had an abundance
of time, however, and he stopped in front of the post-office to talk
with another boy about the coasting on Drake's Hill. It was while he
was standing there that some one called to him from the street. Seated
in an old-fashioned cutter drawn by an old gray horse were an old man
and a young woman. The woman's face flushed and brightened, and her
eyes shone with gladness, as Pen leaped from the sidewalk and ran
toward her.

"Why, mother!" he cried. "I didn't expect to see you. Are you in for a
sleigh-ride?"

She bent over and kissed him and patted his cheek before she replied,

"Yes, dearie. Grandpa had to come to town; and it's so beautiful after
the snow that I begged to come along."

Then the old man, round-faced and rosy, with a fringe of gray whiskers
under his chin, and a green and red comforter about his neck, reached
out a mittened hand and shook hands with Pen.

"Couldn't keep her to hum," he said, "when she seen me hitchin' up old
Charlie."

He laughed good-naturedly and tucked the buffalo-robe in under him.

"How's grandma?" asked Pen.

"Jest about as usual," was the reply. "When you comin' out to see us?"

"I don't know. Maybe a week from Saturday. I'll see."

Then Pen's mother spoke again.

"You were going to school, weren't you? We won't keep you. Give my
love to Aunt Millicent; and come soon to see us."

She kissed him again; the old man clicked to his horse, and succeeded,
after some effort, in starting him, and Pen returned to the sidewalk
and resumed his journey toward school.

It was noticeable that no one had spoken of Colonel Butler, the
grandfather with whom Pen lived at Bannerhall on the main street of
Chestnut Hill. There was a reason for that. Colonel Butler was Pen's
paternal grandfather; and Colonel Butler's son had married contrary to
his father's wish. When, a few years later, the son died, leaving a
widow and an only child, Penfield, the colonel had so far relented as
to offer a home to his grandson, and to provide an annuity for the
widow. She declined the annuity for herself, but accepted the offer of
a home for her son. She knew that it would be a home where, in charge
of his aunt Millicent, h