t having the slightest intention of carrying it into effect.

Professor Kelton had just reached the house, and he seemed so hot and
tired that Sylvia was struck with pity for him. He insisted, however,
that he was perfectly well, but admitted that his errands had proved to
be more vexatious than he had expected.

"What kind of a time have you been having?" he asked as they went
upstairs together.

"Oh, the finest in the world! I'm sure I've learned a lot to-day--a
great many things I never dreamed about before."

"Horses?"

"I never knew before that there was anything to know about horses; but
Mrs. Owen knows all about them. And that team we drove behind is
wonderful; they move together perfectly and go like lightning when you
want them to."

"Well, I'm glad you've enjoyed yourself. You'd better put on your white
dress,--you brought one, didn't you? There will be company at dinner."

"Don't you scare that child about company, Andrew," said Mrs. Owen,
coming up behind them with the linen duster flung over her arm. "If you
haven't any white dress, Sylvia, that blue one's perfectly good and
proper."

She followed Sylvia to her room, continuing to reassure her. She even
shook out the gown, exclaiming, "Well, well" (Sylvia didn't know why),
and went out abruptly, instructing Sylvia to ring for the maid if she
needed help.

There were three other guests for dinner, and they were unlike any other
people that Sylvia had known. She was introduced first to Admiral
Martin, a retired officer of the Navy, who, having remained in the
service of his country to the retiring age, had just come home to live
in the capital of his native state. He was short and thick and talked in
a deep, growling voice exactly as admirals should. The suns and winds of
many seas had burned and scored his face, and a stubby mustache gave him
a belligerent aspect. He mopped his brow with a tremendous handkerchief
and when Mrs. Owen introduced Sylvia as Professor Kelton's granddaughter
he glared fiercely.

"Well, I declare, Andy, your granddaughter; well, I declare." He held
Sylvia's hand a moment and peered into her face. "I remember your mother
very well. Andy, I recall distinctly that you and your wife were at Old
Point in about the winter of '69 and your daughter was with you. So this
is your granddaughter? Well, I declare; I wish she was mine."

"I'm glad to see you, Sylvia," said Mrs. Martin, a shy, white-haired
little woman. "I remember t