Drusilla's Graham's grandmother!"

Mr. Bartlett's face suddenly went very white. He didn't speak for a long
time. Then he rose and went to the window, drew back the silken curtain
and stared out.

Suzanna wondered if he would ever move again! At the moment he was far
away. He was a boy again at his mother's knee, listening to that
fanciful conception of the little silver chain that stretched so far.
There rushed in on him, too, other memories, blinding ones that hurt.
True, every day at the little house a spray of lilies of the valley were
delivered; but with that impersonal gift which cost him nothing but the
drawing of a check he had dismissed his mother from his busy mind,
letting her stay in loneliness, live in old dreams.

A soft little swish was heard at the door and Mrs. Bartlett entered the
room. She stopped in some consternation at sight of the silent trio
within.

"Why, what is the matter?" she asked, impulsively.

Mr. Bartlett turned from the window. He looked at his wife, steadily
regarded her beautiful face and bronze-colored hair piled high upon her
small and regal head. His gaze sought the soft, white hands, the tapered
fingers with pink and shining nails.

At last he spoke, very quietly, but each word seemed weighed: "'And in
the morning there shall tents suddenly arise.' A quotation from
somewhere, my dear, but it shall come true here."

She turned a cold gaze upon him. "Will you explain what you mean?" she
asked.

"There are a few homeless people in Anchorville; their homes laid waste
by a fire," he said, pleasantly. "This small messenger has suggested
that we make use of our ample grounds for a time by putting up tents,
for a time, I say, till more substantial abiding places may be built."

She clenched her hands. "You can't do that, Graham," she began, a note
of entreaty in her voice; "you can't possibly be so absurdly quixotic."

"And why not?"

"I can't understand!" she repeated. "Such philanthropic ideas have not
occurred to you before."

He went to her, standing so he could look into her eyes. "It's late in
the day, but I'll try to do some little thing my mother would like me to
do."

Mrs. Bartlett was about to speak again in burning protest when her
glance fell upon the children, Suzanna and her own boy. And the eloquent
expressions upon those small faces kept her silent. At last she turned
as though to leave the room. Over her shoulder she spoke.

"At least you will not insis