"She had plenty of sand. She must have found out pretty soon that Grandfather was right, but she wouldn't ask for help or come home again, and after a while they didn't hear from her any more and now nobody knows where she is."
"I'm like your father, James," said Helen; "I always feel that some time she may turn up and tell us her adventures."
"She must have been very brave and very loyal," murmured Margaret. "What did she look like? Was she pretty?"
"I haven't any idea. Mother never saw her. She left home before Mother and Father were married."
"Father spoke to me about her once," said Roger gravely.
"Did he really?" cried Helen. "Mother told me he hadn't mentioned her for years, it hurt him so to lose her."
"He told me she was the finest girl he ever knew except Mother, and he thought Grandfather made a mistake in not helping the fellow along and then letting Aunt Louise marry him. You see he sort of drove her into it by opposing her."
"Wouldn't it be great if both our relatives should turn up," cried Helen. "I suppose your uncle is too old now, even if he's alive, but our aunt really may."
"Then Roger'll have to admit that there's romance in real life."
"There are the chimes; we must go," said Roger as "Annie Laurie" pealed out on the fresh evening air, and the Morton brother and sister said "Good-night" to the Hancock sister and brother and went down the path to their own cottage where Roger left Helen and then went on up the hill to his room in the Hall of Pedagogy.