eep him, Mother."

"Take care of your Mother, my dears," said the old gentleman. "She's a
woman in a million."

"Yes, isn't she?" whispered Bobbie.

"God bless her," said the old gentleman, taking both Mother's hands,
"God bless her! Ay, and she shall be blessed. Dear me, where's my hat?
Will Bobbie come with me to the gate?"

At the gate he stopped and said:--

"You're a good child, my dear--I got your letter. But it wasn't needed.
When I read about your Father's case in the papers at the time, I had my
doubts. And ever since I've known who you were, I've been trying to find
out things. I haven't done very much yet. But I have hopes, my dear--I
have hopes."

"Oh!" said Bobbie, choking a little.

"Yes--I may say great hopes. But keep your secret a little longer.
Wouldn't do to upset your Mother with a false hope, would it?"

"Oh, but it isn't false!" said Bobbie; "I KNOW you can do it. I knew you
could when I wrote. It isn't a false hope, is it?"

"No," he said, "I don't think it's a false hope, or I wouldn't have told
you. And I think you deserve to be told that there IS a hope."

"And you don't think Father did it, do you? Oh, say you don't think he
did."

"My dear," he said, "I'm perfectly CERTAIN he didn't."

If it was a false hope, it was none the less a very radiant one that lay
warm at Bobbie's heart, and through the days that followed lighted her
little face as a Japanese lantern is lighted by the candle within.

Chapter XIV. The End.

Life at the Three Chimneys was never quite the same again after the old
gentleman came to see his grandson. Although they now knew his name,
the children never spoke of him by it--at any rate, when they were by
themselves. To them he was always the old gentleman, and I think he had
better be the old gentleman to us, too. It wouldn't make him seem any
more real to you, would it, if I were to tell you that his name was
Snooks or Jenkins (which it wasn't)?--and, after all, I must be allowed
to keep one secret. It's the only one; I have told you everything else,
except what I am going to tell you in this chapter, which is the last.
At least, of course, I haven't told you EVERYTHING. If I were to do
that, the book would never come to an end, and that would be a pity,
wouldn't it?

Well, as I was saying, life at Three Chimneys was never quite the same
again. The cook and the housemaid were very nice (I don't mind telling
you their names--they were Clara and Ethe