Mrs. Maple stole gently away to join her husband and children, and to have a good cry, because, as she said, she was so very, very glad.
Then, after an hour had passed, they all returned to the kitchen to find father and son seated side by side talking quietly and happily.
"This is the one like you, David," Granfer said, calling Bessie to him. "I wonder you never noticed the likeness yourself! Your little Una does not favour you in the least!"
"No, she is like her mother, and I am glad she is!"
"Her mother must have been a very sweet woman, I am sure," Mrs. Maple said.
"She was indeed. Her death was a great trouble to me; we had only been married eighteen months when she died. My little daughter is very fond of you, father."
"Yes, she is," the old man admitted, smiling with pleasure. "The first time we met she asked if she might call me Granfer."
"Did she really? How strange!"
"And it was she who led me to pray for you, David: I never did till your child suggested it! God bless her!"
"She is a dear little soul—my Una! Ah, she has looked forward joyfully to the return of your son, never dreaming him to be her own father!"