Wilford had heard of Dr. Morris Grant, for his name was often on
Jamie's lips, while his proud Sister Juno, he suspected, had tried her
powers of fascination in vain upon the grave American, met in the
saloons of Paris; but he had no suspicion that his new acquaintance
was the one until they were driving toward the farmhouse and Morris
mentioned having met his family in France, inquiring after them all, and
especially for Jamie. Involuntarily then Wilford grasped again the hand
of Morris Grant, exclaiming: "And are you the doctor who was so kind to
Jamie? I did not expect this pleasure?"

After that the ride seemed very short, and Wilford was surprised when as
they turned a corner in the sandy road, Morris pointed to the farmhouse,
saying: "We are almost there--that is the place."

"That!" and Wilford's voice indicated his disappointment, for in all his
mental pictures of Katy Lennox's home he had never imagined anything
like this:

Large, rambling and weird-like, with something lofty and imposing, just
because it was so ancient, was the house he had in his mind, and he
could not conceal his chagrin as his eye took in the small, low
building, with its high windows and tiny panes of glass, paintless and
blindless, standing there alone among the hills, Morris understood it
perfectly; but, without seeming to notice it, remarked: "It is the
oldest house probably in the country, and should be invaluable on that
account. I think we Americans are too fond of change and too much
inclined to throw aside all that reminds us of the past. Now I like
the farmhouse just because it is old and unpretentious."

"Yes, certainly," Wilford answered, looking ruefully around him at the