“Wilmer Drayton! Don't you know me? I am Oliver Hampden, and I have come to apologize to you for all I have done which has offended you, and to ask you to be friends with me.” He held out his hand.
The old Colonel stepped back, and under the shock of surprise paused for a moment.
“Oliver Hampden!” The next moment he stepped forward and took his hand.
“Come in, Oliver,” he said, gently, and putting his other arm around the General's shoulder, he handed him into the little cosey, fire-lighted room as though nothing had happened since he had done the same the last time fifty years before.
At this moment the door opened and the little boy entered with mingled mysteriousness and importance. Seeing the two gentlemen standing together, he paused with a mystified look in his wide-open eyes, trying to comprehend the situation.
“Oliver, come here,” said the Colonel, quietly. “This is your other grandfather.”
The boy came forward, and, wheeling, stood close beside the Colonel, facing General Hampden, like a soldier dressing by his file-closer.
“You are my grandfather,” he said, glancing up at the Colonel.
The Colonel's eyes glowed with a soft light.
“Yes, my boy; and so is he. We are friends again, and you must love him—just as you do me.”