master now of Crompton Place. Speculation on this point was
rife everywhere, and on no one had it a stronger hold than on Howard
himself. He would not like to have had it known that within twenty-four
hours after his uncle's death he had gone through every pigeon-hole and
nook in the Colonel's safe and private drawers, and turned over every
paper searching for a will, and when he found none, had congratulated
himself that in all human probability he was the sole heir. He was very
properly sad, with an unmistakable air of ownership as he went about the
place, giving orders to the servants. To Amy he paid great deference,
telling the undertaker to ask what she liked and abide by her decisions.
And here he was perfectly safe. With the shock of the Colonel's death
Amy had relapsed into a dazed, silent mood, saying always, "I don't
know; ask Eloise," and when Eloise was asked, she replied, "I have been
here too short a time to give any orders. Mr. Howard will tell you."

Thus everything was left to him, as he meant it should be, stipulating
that Eloise meet the people who came, some to offer their sympathy, and
more from a morbid curiosity to see whatever there was to be seen. This
Eloise did with a dignity which surprised herself, and if Howard were
the master, she was the mistress, and apparently as much at home as if
she had lived there all her life. Ruby was the first to call. She had
not seen Eloise since the astounding news that she was Amy's daughter.

"I am so glad for you," she said, and the first tears Eloise had shed
sprang to her eyes as she laid her head on Ruby's arm, just as she had
done in the days of her trouble and pain.

Mrs. Biggs came, too,--very loud in her protestations of delight and
assertions that she had always known Eloise was above the common.

Never since the memorable lawn party many years ago had there been so
great a crowd in the house and grounds as on the day of the funeral. In
honor of his memory, and because he had given the school-house to the
town, the school was closed, and the pupils, with Ruby Ann at their
head, marched up the avenue with wreaths of autumn leaves and bouquets
of flowers intended for the grave. The Rev. Arthur Mason read the burial
service, and as he glanced at the costly casket, nearly smothered in
flowers, and at the crowd inside and out, he could not keep his thoughts
from his father's description of another funeral, where the dead woman
lay in her cheap coffin,