token of her gratitude for all she had done for the baby. She also wrote
her a letter telling of the grand christening they had had, and of the
handsome robe from Paris which baby had worn at the ceremony.

"We have called him Grey," Geraldine wrote, "and perhaps, he will visit
you again next summer," but it was not until Grey was two years old,
that he went once more to the farm-house and staid for several months,
while his parents were in Europe.

What a summer that was for Hannah, and how swiftly the days went by,
while the burden pressed so lightly that sometimes she forgot it for
hours at a time, and only remembered it when she saw how persistently
her father shrank from the advances of the little boy, who, utterly
ignoring his apparent indifference, pursued him constantly, plying him
with questions, and sometimes regarding him curiously, as if wondering
at his silence.

One day, when the old man was sitting in his arm-chair under the apple
trees in the yard, Grey came up to him, with his straw hat hanging down
his back, his blue eyes shining like stars, and all over his face that
sweet smile which made him so beautiful. Folding his little white hands
together upon his grandfather's knee, he stood a moment gazing fixedly
into the sad face, which never relaxed a muscle, though every nerve of
the wretched man was strung to its utmost tension and quivering with
pain. The searching blue eyes of the boy troubled him, for it seemed as
if they pierced to the depths of his soul and saw what was there.

"Da-da," Grey said at last. "Take me, peese; I'se tired."

Oh, how the old man longed to snatch the child to his bosom and cover