* * * * * * * *
The next day, at Mrs. Gray’s suggestion, her son took her for a drive in the light buggy. Although the Colonel had two automobiles, the little old lady preferred the old-fashioned way of traveling. They drove along Willowbend Road, where the last bits of snow were rapidly disappearing and where reddish green buds were to be seen on the drooping trees that gave the country road its name.
Mrs. Gray lifted a beaming face and smiled up at her long lost son from under her quaint Quaker-like bonnet. “You haven’t asked me, Alfred, why my name is Gray?”
“No,” he acknowledged, “I supposed that you would tell me in time if you had married again.”
She shook her head. “No, I never did. Because I always dressed in grey, friends began to call me that, and when I came here once more searching for some trace of you, I thought I would use that name; and I am glad that I did, for by so doing I won the love of my granddaughter. She might otherwise have cared merely from a sense of duty.” Then, as they turned in between two stone gate posts, the man said: “How strange it seems to be, coming back to our old home. I thought it had been sold for taxes long ago.”
“It was nearly sold,” Mrs. Gray replied, “but I heard of it in time to pay the back taxes and keep it. At first I thought, when I couldn’t find you, that I did not care to own it, for every corner and tree reminded me of you when you were a boy, but now I am so glad that I have kept our old home. It is rather dilapidated,” she added brightly, “but in a week or so we can have it all in readiness before we tell the children a word about it. Then, when Geraldine is strong enough to be moved, we will bring her over here.”
“How pleased she will be,” Mr. Morrison declared. “I will go to Dorchester tomorrow and see about selling our other place and have the furniture sent down here.”
“I thought we’d let Alfred have the room that was yours when you were a boy,” Mrs. Gray continued, “and that sunny bay window room which overlooks the garden is the one I have planned for Geraldine.”
“Mother,” the smiling man protested, “you know how completely I have been spoiling our girl. You aren’t going to do the same thing, are you?”
The little old lady shook her head. “Geraldine is a changed lassie. She won’t spoil now.”