"But where do you come from, my dear? and how did you get here? and
what have you been doing, all these years?"

"Grampa brought me here," the child said. "I call him grampa, you know,
because I did when I was little, and I have always kept to it; but I
know, of course, it ought to be grandpapa. He brought me here, and
John--at least he called him John--brought me in. And I have been
living, for two years, with Mrs. Walsham down in the town, and I used
to see you in church, but I did not know that you were my grandpapa."

The squire, who was holding her close to him while she spoke, got up
and rang the bell; and John opened the door, with a quickness that
showed that he had been waiting close to it, anxiously waiting a
summons.

"John Petersham," the squire said, "give me your hand. This is the
happiest day of my life."

The two men wrung each other's hands. They had been friends ever since
John Petersham, who was twelve years the senior of the two, first came
to the house, a young fellow of eighteen, to assist his father, who had
held the same post before him.

"God be thanked, squire!" he said huskily.

"God be thanked, indeed, John!" the squire rejoined, reverently. "So
this was the reason, old friend, why your hand shook as you poured out
my wine. How could you keep the secret from me?"

"I did not know how to begin to tell you, but I was pretty nigh letting