it was Truxton. He
had been brought up a--gentleman. He knew what was expected of a man
of his birth and breeding. Secrecy is never honorable and I told
him--last night--that I was sorry to be less proud of my son than of
the men who had gone before him."

"Did you tell him that?"

"Yes. If pride of family means anything, Becky, it means holding on to
the finest of your traditions. If you break the rules--you are a
little less fine--a little less worthy----"

What a stern little thing she was. Yet one felt the stimulus of her
strength. "Aunt Claudia," said Becky, tremulously, "if I could only be
as sure of things as yon are----"

"What things?"

"Of right and wrong and all the rest of it."

"I don't know what you mean by all the rest. But right is right, and
wrong is wrong, my dear. There is no half-way, in spite of all the
sophistries with which people try to salve their consciences."

She stopped, and plunged again into the discussion of her problem. "I
must telephone to Truxton--he mustn't come--not until his grandfather
asks him, Becky."

"He is coming now," said Becky, who sat by the window. "Look, Aunt
Claudia."

Tramping up the hail towards the second gate was a tall figure in
khaki. Resting like a rose-petal on one shoulder was a mite of a child
in pink rompers.

"He is bringing Fiddle with him," Becky gasped. "Oh, Aunt Claudia, he
is bringing Fiddle."

Aunt Claudia rose and looked out---- "Well," she said, "let her come.
She's his child. If Father turns them out, I'll go with them."

Truxton saw them at the window and waved. "Shall we go down?" Becky
said.

"No--wait a minute. Father's in the hall." Aunt Claudia stood tensely
in the middle of the room. "Becky, listen over the stair rail to what
they are saying."

"But----"

"Go on," Aunt Claudia insisted; "there are times when--one breaks the
rules, Becky. I've got to know what they are saying----"

The voices floated up. Truxton's a lilting tenor----

"Are you going to forgive us, Grandfather?"

"I am not the grandfather of Mary Flippin's child," the Judge spoke
evidently without heat.

"You are the grandfather of Fidelity Branch Beaufort," said Truxton
coolly; "you can't get away from that----"

"The neighborhood calls her Fiddle Flippin," the Judge reminded him.

"What's in a name?" said Truxton, and swung his baby high in the air.
"Do you love your daddy, Fiddle-dee-dee?"

"'Ess," said Fiddle, having accep