tions was suddenly only a plain man, crying out his heart's
need of the loved woman he had lost so many years ago.

And because the boy was the son of the woman for whom his father
grieved he knew how to sympathize and comfort the man.

"I've missed her too--lots of times--even though, Dad, you've been the
most wonderful father two kids ever had."

The man stared out into the sunny world outside the windows and all
unashamed let the tears fill his fine eyes.

The boy, seeing those tears, all at once remembered now many times,
when he was an unheeding youngster, he had seen this same father
sitting at the departed mother's desk with his head pillowed in his
arms.

"Dad," the boy's awed voice questioned, "is love a thing as big and
terrible and lasting as that?"

The man wiped his eyes and smiled.

"Yes, Son, love is as wonderful and lasting and in a way as terrible as
that. It was wrong of me to tease Nanny. But I have been worried
about my motherless girl. I'd like to see her happily settled.
Somehow I've never worried about you."

"No," and the boy smiled an odd little smile that showed just how he
had missed a mother's petting, "it's always mothers that worry about
the boys, isn't it?"

At this second revelation and blunder Mr. Ainslee was so startled that
he forgot to go in search of Nanny.

As a matter of fact Nanny had left the house. She wanted to go to the
knoll and think over carefully certain matters that had been puzzling
her of late. But she dared not go to the grove on the hilltop. For
only half an hour before she had seen Green Valley's young minister
walking up to her old seat under the oaks. Perhaps if her father had
not said what he did--Nanny frowned impatiently, then sighed and walked
down the road to Grandma Wentworth's. She told herself that she was
going down to visit Grandma and tell her the week's news. But she was
really going to find heartease and because at Grandma's she would hear
oftenest the name that now had the power to quicken her heart beats and
bring her a pain that was strangely edged with joy.

Grandma was weeding her seed onions and very sensibly let Nanny help.
Nanny's fingers flew in and out and because she dared not tell her own
heart troubles she told Grandma about Jocelyn and David and the foolish
bit of gossip that had come between them.

"I think, Grandma, somebody ought to do something about it. Can't
you--"

Grandma shook her head.

"Nanny," Gran