e, she sobbed heart-brokenly.

"There, there, dear Fairy Godmother. You mustn't cry so!" Grace's own
voice was husky with emotion. "You have me with you now to comfort you.
Cheer up. I am sure that everything will turn out all right.
It's--dreadful--of course--not--to hear from Tom," Grace faltered
briefly, "but I--we must keep thinking he is safe and well and that we
may receive a letter from him at any minute. I didn't wait to go home. I
knew you needed me, so I came straight from the train here. Mother
doesn't even know yet that I am in town. Come into the library and sit
down in your own favorite chair." Bravely stifling her own heavy
anxiety, Grace wrapped an affectionate arm about the dainty little old
lady and drew her into the long room which had been the scene of so many
of their confidential talks.

"There you are!" she nodded, striving to smile. "Just a moment until I
get rid of my hat and coat and I'll curl up on the floor at your feet.
Then we can talk things over and find out what's to be done."

"You are a dear good child," quavered Mrs. Gray. Under the white glow of
the electric lamp, her Dresden-shepherdess face looked pinched and wan.
Fear and uncertainty had robbed her small features of that look of
perennial youth which so individualized her. "It was thoughtful in you
to telegraph me that you were coming. I knew then that you hadn't heard
from Tom, but I knew, too, that you would soon be here."

"I hated to telegraph you, knowing you'd worry even more. Still it
seemed best." Now ensconced at Mrs. Gray's feet, Grace possessed herself
of the older woman's hand. "Please feel that whatever you may ask of me,
I will cheerfully try to perform it."

"I don't know which way to turn," was the distracted answer. "I had so
hoped that you would be able to tell me that Tom was safe in camp. It's
a rather delicate matter, my child. Coming as it does so near your
wedding day, it is very necessary that Tom should be located at once.
I've already written Mr. Mackenzie about Tom, but as yet he has not
answered my letter. Something dreadful has happened to my poor boy. I
feel it."

Grace privately agreed with her, yet she would not say so. She knew as
well as did Mrs. Gray that only actual mishap would have caused Tom to
fail in his duty to his aunt and to herself. "I think we had better
telegraph Mr. Mackenzie," she suggested, her voice ringing with new-born
purpose. "Then--if he knows nothing of Tom's whereabou