said grannie. "But I don't seem to want you to
go. I'm fond of you, dear." Rose lifted the cherishing hand to her lips.
"Peter is fond of you, too. He told me so to-day. It is all over between
him and Electra. He told you that?"

"Dear Peter! But after this"--she was quivering with impatience to put
that test--"you wouldn't be willing to have him like me--after this?"

Now grannie was silent, but only because she was thinking. The
tightening clasp of her hand made that evident.

"My dear," she said at last, in her soft old voice, "you can't imagine
how stupid I am. I never know how to say things right. But if it was a
transgression--I suppose you'd say it was--"

Honesty rose up in the girl, and cried to be heard.

"I thought it was right," she protested sharply. "I did think it was
right. About coming here I didn't think much, except that I was lonesome
and afraid. Now I understand. I must pay my penalties. I must be honest.
It is too late,--but it's all I can do."

"You see, about transgressions," said grannie, "why, they're not to be
thought of, my dear, not for an instant after we are sorry. We've just
taken the wrong road, that's all. We've got to clip it back into the
right one. We can't sit down to cry."

"We've got to take our punishment!"

"Yes, mercy, yes! I guess we have. But we've got to be happy, too. The
punishments were given us in love. We've got to be thankful for 'em.
Now, do you feel as if 't was right for you to go back with your
father?"

"There are hard things there. I ran away from them. I must face them."

"Then you go, dear," said grannie. "But don't you forget for one minute
that there's the love of God. Peter and I love you, too. And when all
the things are done, you hurry right back here, and we shall be
here--some of us, anyway--and your room'll be ready for you just the
same."

Rose lay there with the ineffable sense upon her of that readjusted
balance which we call forgiveness. Life, even the narrow piece of it she
was touching, greatened with possibilities.

"Grannie," she said, "there's one thing more."

"What is it, dear?"

"I want to leave a message with you. I want you to tell Osmond
something."

"Why, honey, do you know Osmond?"

"Yes, I know him." Then she rehearsed the bare details of their
meetings, and finishing, said, quite simply, "I can't see him. I can't
say good-by. If I spoke to him, how could I bear to go? But it's he who
really sends me."

"What do