id Grogan's work, they at least did it
well.

Crane mounted the porch first and knocked. Babcock followed.

"No, Mr. Crane," said a young girl, opening the door, "she's not at
home. I'm expecting her every minute. Mother went to work early this
morning. She'll be sorry to miss you, sir. She ought to be home now, for
she's been up 'most all night at the fort. She's just sent Carl up for
two more horses. Won't you come in and wait?"

"No; I'll keep on to the fort," answered Crane. "I may meet her on the
road."

"May I come in?" Babcock asked, explaining his business in a few words.

"Oh, yes, sir. Mother won't be long now. You've not forgotten me, Mr.
Babcock? I'm her daughter Jennie. I was to your office once. Gran'pop,
this is the gentleman mother works for."

An old man rose with some difficulty from an armchair, and bowed in a
kindly, deferential way. He had been reading near the window. He was
in his shirt-sleeves, his collar open at the throat. He seemed rather
feeble. His legs shook as if he were weak from some recent illness.
About the eyes was a certain kindliness that did not escape Babcock's
quick glance; they were clear and honest, and looked straight into
his--the kind he liked. The old man's most striking features were
his silver-white hair, parted over his forehead and falling to his
shoulders, and his thin, straight, transparent nose, indicating both ill
health and a certain refinement and sensitiveness of nature. Had it not
been for his dress, he might have passed for an English curate on half
pay.

"Me name's Richard, sor--Richard Mullins," said the old man. "I'm Mary's
father. She won't be long gone now. She promised me she'd be home for
dinner." He placed a chair for Babcock, and remained standing.

"I will wait until she returns," said Babcock. He had come to discover
something more definite about this woman who worked like a steam-engine,
crooned over a cripple, and broke a plank with her fist, and he did
not intend to leave until he knew. "Your daughter must have had great
experience. I have never seen any one man handle work better," he
continued, extending his hand. Then, noticing that Mullins was still
standing, "Don't let me take your seat."

Mullins hesitated, glanced at Jennie, and, moving another chair from the
window, drew it nearer, and settled slowly beside Babcock.

The room was as clean as bare arms and scrubbing-brushes could make
it. Near the fireplace was a cast-iron stove