said.

"Why?"

"Oh, I think I'd have liked to play with you. We could have made some
jolly mud pies."

"We did, but you were three, and I was twenty-five. Much ashamed, too, I
remember, when your father caught me doing it."

"Am I like him?"

He had asked the question many times and her answer was always the same.
"Yes, very much like him. He was a good man, Lynn."

"Do I look like him?"

"Yes, all but your eyes."

"When you lived here, did you know Herr Kaufmann?"

"By sight, yes." He was looking straight at her, but she had turned her
face away, forgetting the darkness. "We used to see him passing in the
street," she went on, in a different tone. "He was a student and never
seemed to know many people. He would not remember me."

"Then there's no use of my telling him who I am?"

"Not the least."

"Maybe he won't take me."

"Yes, he will," she answered, though her heart suddenly misgave her. "He
must--there is no other way."

"Will you go with me?"

"No, indeed; you must go alone. I shall not appear at all."

"Why, mother?"

"Because." It was her woman's reason, which he had learned to accept as
final. Beyond that there was no appeal.

East Lancaster lay on one side of the brook and West Lancaster on the
other. The two settlements were quite distinct, though they had a common
bond of interest in the post-office, which was harmoniously situated
near the border line. East Lancaster was the home of the aristocracy.
Here were old Colonial mansions in which, through their descendants, the
builders still lived. The set traditions of a bygone century held full
sway in the place, but, though circumscribed by conditions, the upper
circle proudly considered itself complete.

West Lancaster was on a hill, and a steep one at that. Hardy German
immigrants had settled there, much to the disgust of East Lancaster,
holding itself sternly aloof year after year. It was not considered
"good form" to allude to the dwellers upon the hill, save in low
tones and with lifted brows, yet there were not wanting certain good
Samaritans who sent warm clothing and discarded playthings, after
nightfall and by stealth, to the little Teutons who lived so near them.

Hemmed in by the everlasting hills, estranged from its neighbour, and
barely upon speaking terms with other towns, East Lancaster let the
world go on by. Two trains a day rushed through the station, for the
main line of the railroad, receiving no encouragement fr