e was no visible change in his
manner. He greeted black and white with a courtesy which marked the social
line, with an affability which had a touch of the august. Had the gulf
between them been less impassable, he would not have dared the hearty
handshake, the genial word, the pat upon the head--these were a tribute
which he paid to the very humble.

When the servants had streamed chattering out through the back door, he put
his arms about the old people and led them into the library. "Why, what's
become of Champe?" he inquired, glancing complacently round the book-lined
walls.

"Ah, you mustn't expect to see anything of Champe these days," replied the
Major, waiting for Mrs. Lightfoot to be seated before he drew up his chair.
"His heart's gone roving, I tell him, and he follows mighty closely after
it. If you don't find him at Uplands, you've only to inquire at Powell
Hall."

"Uplands!" exclaimed Dan, hearing the one word. "What is he doing at
Uplands?"

The Major chuckled as he settled himself in his easy chair and stretched
out his slippered feet. "Well, I should say that he was doing a very
commendable thing, eh, Molly?" he rejoined jokingly.

"He's losing his head, if that's what you mean," retorted the old lady.

"Not his head, but his heart, my dear," blandly corrected the Major, "and I
repeat that it is a very commendable thing to do--why, where would you be
to-day, madam, if I hadn't fallen in love with you?"

Mrs. Lightfoot sniffed as she unwound her knitting. "I don't doubt that I
should be quite as well off, Mr. Lightfoot," she replied convincingly.

"Ah, maybe so, maybe so," admitted the Major, with a sigh; "but I'm very
sure that I shouldn't be, my dear."

The old lady softened visibly, but she only remarked:--

"I'm glad that you have found it out, sir," and clicked her needles.

Dan, who had been wandering aimlessly about the room, threw himself into a
chair beside his grandmother and caught at her ball of yarn.

"It's Virginia, I suppose," he suggested.

The Major laughed until his spectacles clouded.

"Virginia!" he gasped, wiping the glasses upon his white silk handkerchief.
"Listen to the boy, Molly, he believes every last one of us--myself to
boot, I reckon--to be in love with Miss Virginia."

"If he does, he believes as many men have done before him," interposed Mrs.
Lightfoot, with a homely philosophy.

"Well, isn't it Virginia?" asked Dan.

"I tell you frankly," pursued the M