her. She could be the primest favorite with every one if she only chose.
She is so sweetly pretty, too, and such a lady."

"Well, dear, her mother was a real lady; and her father was educated by
my dear husband, and was in the army."

"It doesn't matter if her father was a duke and her mother a dairymaid,"
said Kathleen with emphasis. "She is just a lady because she is."

Before she could add another word Ruth came in.

"Do come, Kathleen," she said. "He is much better after his sleep. I
told him you were here, and he would like to see you."

"He has been bothered like anything about those accounts," said Mrs.
Craven. "I can't make out what has put it into his head. Years ago it
was an old story with him that something had gone wrong with the books;
but, dear hearts! he had forgotten all about it for a weary long while.
Now within the last week he has been at it again, just as if 'twas
yesterday."

"He has an old account-book on the table now, granny," said Ruth.

"Well," said Mrs. Craven, "we must humor him.--Don't you take any
notice, Miss O'Hara; don't contradict him, I mean."

Kathleen nodded. There was a look on Ruth's face which made her feel no
longer interested in the Irish potatoes. She slipped her hand inside her
friend's, and they went into the parlor. Mr. Craven was seated by the
fire. His white locks fell about his shoulders; there was a faint touch
of pink on each of his sallow cheeks, and his blue eyes were bright.

"Ah!" he said, raising his face when he saw Kathleen. "And is this the
little lady--the dear little lady--- from over the seas, from the heart
of Ireland itself? I was once in Ireland. I spent a month in Dublin, and
I bought the very best paper for packing my sugars and teas in that I
ever came across. Ah! I had a good time. We used to sit in Phoenix Park.
I liked Ireland, and I could welcome any Irish maiden.--Give me your
hand, missy; I am proud to see you."

Kathleen gave her hand. She came up close to the old man and said:

"Do you know, you have a look of my own old grandfather. He is dead and
in his grave; but he had white, white hair like yours. Do you mind if I
put my hand on your hair and stroke it just because of grandfather?"

"Ah, my dear, you may do what you like," said the old man. "And you have
been good to my little lass--my little woman here. She has told me you
have been good to her."

"She has been very good to me. I am glad to see you, Mr. Craven. I hope
when