"Come here, little girl," he said; and she went up to him fearlessly. "Can you tell me how old you are, and what your name is?"
"I am eight, grandpapa, and my name is Amy."
Another Amy! He felt the great sobs rising up from his heart, but he choked them back.
"What have they told you about me?" he asked her anxiously. Could it be possible, he wondered, that they had not taught her to hate him?
"They always told me that you were far away toward where the sun rose; and if I were good they would fetch me to see you some day. And every night I say in my prayers, 'God bless papa and mamma, and God bless grandpapa.'"
"Why didn't they fetch you; what made them let you come alone?"
"Mamma said she would surprise you with your big grandchild. They are waiting at the hotel, and John is down-stairs. They want you to come back with me. Will you, grandpapa?"
Mrs. Osgood looked on in wonder, as her master came downstairs and put on his overcoat,—came down holding the child's hand in his, her golden hair floating beside him. Was that old Job Golding?
He stepped into the carriage in which careful Mistress Amy had sent her messenger. The horses did not go fast enough. He would have been in a fever of impatience, but the child's hand in his quieted him. Through it all he was wondering vaguely what it meant,—whether he were his own old self, or some one else.