“And they used to play with Charlie and Alice; didn’t they?”
“Yes,” answered her grandfather, with a sigh, “Those were happy days. Well after a while Mr. Grayson the father died, and then little Annette, and there were only Miss Elizabeth and Walter left in that great house. All Miss Elizabeth’s love was lavished on this brother and he was worthy of it—a wonderfully fine fellow.”
Something in her grandfather’s tone caused Caro to ask, “Did he die too?”
“No, but in the midst of his college course he lost his health. It was a strange, strange thing, for he seemed perfectly well and strong, and ever since then he has been growing more helpless each year.”
“And couldn’t anybody cure him?”
“No one; although his sister took him to the wisest physicians in this country and abroad. They were away for a long time but now they have come home and have shut themselves in with their sorrow.”
“Marjorie said they weren’t nice,” put in Caro.
“Marjorie ought not to say that; she does not understand. It was the trolley line on Grayson avenue that made the trouble. Your Uncle Horace was president of the railway company, and this made the Graysons angry with him, and it caused a break between the families.”
Dr. Barrows did not tell how he had attempted to act as peacemaker and had been received by Miss Elizabeth with a cold disdain which showed him that he was included in the bitter feeling she had toward his brother. And what troubled him most was that in this way his beloved seminary had lost one of its best friends and most generous contributors.
“Miss Elizabeth is a good woman,” he added; “she built our beautiful chapel in memory of her father and sister,—she can be generous and kind, and I for one cannot speak hardly of her, knowing her great sorrow. I only wish I could do something for her.”