He held her close a moment, thinking nothing had ever before been half
so sweet as the way she called him grandfather.

From that moment his heart went out to her as it had to little Tom and
Elizabeth. It made no difference if her mother had forfeited his love.
It made no difference if Jack Sherman was her father, and that the two
men heartily hated each other.

It was his own little grandchild he held in his arms.

She had sealed the relationship with a trusting kiss.

"Child," he said, huskily, "you will come and see me again, won't you,
no matter if they do tell you not to? You shall have all the flowers and
berries you want, and you can ride Maggie Boy as often as you please."

She looked up into his face. It was very familiar to her. She had looked
at his portrait often, unconsciously recognizing a kindred spirit that
she longed to know.

Her ideas of grandfathers, gained from stories and observation, led her
to class them with fairy godmothers. She had always wished for one.

The day they moved to Lloydsborough, Locust had been pointed out to her
as her grandfather's home. From that time on she slipped away with
Fritz on every possible occasion to peer through the gate, hoping for a
glimpse of him.

"Yes, I'll come suah!" she promised. "I likes you just lots,