“Do so at once! Admit them!”
An arm was lifted and a hand pointed toward the window. Frank crossed the room and threw the casement wide. At that moment the morning sunlight shone through the trees and reached the window. When Frank turned about one bright ray was resting on the peaceful face of the dead.
CHAPTER VIII.
UNWELCOME VISITORS.
It was all over at last. The funeral had been held, and Horace Scotch was buried in the little village cemetery.
Frank returned to the old mansion, which seemed so lonely and deserted now. From room to room he strayed, and the memories that hung about the old place crowded thick upon him.
In one of the rooms was an old melodeon that had not been opened for years. He opened it and sat down to it, letting his fingers stray over the keys. It was marvelous how well it was in tune, considering the fact that it had not been played upon for so long.
Frank played many of the old tunes that he remembered. Toots crept up and listened at the door, not making a sound to disturb the young master he loved so well.
At last Frank sang, and the song was one that thrills every heart, “Home; Sweet Home.”
“An exile from home splendor dazzles in vain;