"Do you remember the address of the Conants, at Dorfield?"

"Of course."

"Well, you may write to me, or to your mother, once a week, addressing
the letter in care of Peter Conant. But if you are questioned by
anyone," he added, gravely, "do not mention the address of the Conants
or hint that I have gone to Dorfield. Write your letters privately and
unobserved, in your own room, and post them secretly, by your own hand,
so that no one will be aware of the correspondence. Your caution in this
regard will be of great service to your mother and me. Do you think you
can follow these instructions?"

"To be sure I can, Gran'pa Jim. But why must I---"

"Some day," said he, "you will understand this seeming mystery and be
able to smile at your present perplexities. There is nothing to fear, my
dear child, and nothing that need cause you undue anxiety. Keep a brave
heart and, whatever happens, have faith in Gran'pa Jim. Your mother--as
good a woman as God ever made--believes in me, and she knows all. Can
you accept her judgment, Mary Louise? Can you steadfastly ignore any
aspersions that may be cast upon my good name?"

"Yes, Gran'pa Jim."

She had not the faintest idea what he referred to. Not until afterward
was she able to piece these strange remarks together and make sense of
them. Just now the girl was most impressed by the fact that her mother
and grandfather were going away and would leave her as a boarder with
Miss Stearne. The delightful home life, wherein she had passed the