At that moment the door opened softly—what was Burns thinking of, not to 254 knock?—and there stood, not Burns, not Nora, but a slender apparition in petticoats, with a dash of snow on hat and jacket, and a dash of daring in a pair of very bright eyes.
“Good afternoon, Grandfather,” was the apparition’s cheerful greeting, and involuntarily the old gentleman found himself replying with a “Good afternoon” of his own.
The apparition moved swiftly forward, and, before he knew what he was about, an unmistakable kiss had got itself applied to his countenance and—more amazing still—he was strongly of the impression that there had been—no robbery!
Greatly agitated by so unusual an experience, he only managed to say: “So you are––?”
“Yes; I am Di Crosby,—your granddaughter, you know, and—this is Thanksgiving day!”
“You don’t say so!” and the old man gazed down at her in growing trepidation.
“Let’s sit down,” Di suggested, feeling that she gained every point that 255 her adversary lost. “This must be your chair. And I’ll sit here. There! Isn’t this cozy?”
“Oh, very!”
The master of the house had sufficiently recovered himself to put on his spectacles, the use of which was affording him much satisfaction. He really did not know that the young girl of the day was so pretty!
“I don’t suppose you smoke a pipe,” Di remarked, in a strictly conversational tone.