Grandpa Jim’s wealth was sufficient for him to retire from any active business, so he passed his time in cheerful gossip with the other inhabitants and made many “travel trips” with Mary Louise, both in order to educate the young girl and relieve his own ennui.
The Great War had kept him at home during recent years, but he had read daily reports of its progress and talked them over with those of his acquaintances who were most interested in the fray.
He was also tremendously interested in the early education and career of his fascinating granddaughter, the more so after the child’s mother contracted a serious disease which carried her away from them forever.
So here were these two, a big old gentleman and a small young girl, located in one of the most prominent and attractive houses in Dorfield. Here they were, beloved by many but envied by none so far as they knew.
Mary Louise had many girl friends. Indeed, you might say every girl in the town claimed her friendship, for she was generous, bright, initiative and had a glad and loving word for every girl she met. Therefore it is no wonder that a lack of boys in the Hathaway family should create an added interest in the one girl of the establishment among the soldiers now returning from their victorious campaign. But the young girl did not know that.
On her side, Mary Louise had no cousins or other relatives, with whom she might intimately hobnob; Grandpa Jim’s male relatives were so remotely connected to him by blood that he could not name you one of them. But there were none in Dorfield—nor out of it—whose hearts were more overflowing with patriotic enthusiasm than this fine old war veteran and his charming granddaughter as they went down the hill the next morning toward the depot. As they passed along, the electric lamps in front of the station were still striving to penetrate the gray gloom of foggy moisture.
Grandpa Jim said in his cheery voice: “It’s another one of those wholly tantalizing mornings, Mary Louise, but that won’t dampen the joy of our soldiers at getting home again.”
“To be sure,” she replied, “so let us hope the trains will make up for lost time. Good gracious, Grandpa Jim,” pausing abruptly to peer ahead, “they’re in now!” for her eyes were sharper than those of the Colonel.
She ran on a few steps in excitement, but then, remembering that in the semi-darkness she was her “Grandpa Jim’s cane,” she abated her pace and went back to take his arm.
“It won’t matter, child,” he said, laughing lightly; “we’re not specially interested in those aboard, and they’ve all got to march over to their old cantonment before they are disbanded. But we have the right to shake hands with them.”