The youth saw that her soft brown eyes, which could not possibly look stern as could her brother’s gray ones, were filled with tears.
“God bless you, my boy!” she said, in a low tone. “I knew your father, Captain Tarr, and a very nice man he was. You are like him.
“And now, brother,” added Miss Frances briskly, “if you will take Mr. Wetherbee to his room to prepare for dinner, I will show Brandon to his apartment. Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”
Mr. Pepper, who had entered behind his sister, bore Caleb off as she had commanded, to a room on the lower floor, while Brandon was led up stairs by Miss Frances. The house was nicely though plainly furnished, evidences of comfort rather than of great wealth being apparent.
Everywhere, on mantel and table, and in the niches of the hall, were innumerable curiosities in the line of shells and coral brought from all parts of the world.
Miss Frances ushered Brandon into a very prettily furnished chamber on the second floor—almost too daintily furnished for a boy’s room, in fact. Innumerable bits of fancy work and the like, without doubt the work of feminine fingers, adorned the place: yet all was fashioned in a style of at least twenty years back.
Above the bed, in a heavily gilded frame, was a large portrait of a young woman—not exactly a beautiful woman, but one with a very sweet and lovable face—which smiled down upon the visitor and attracted his attention at once.
Miss Frances noticed his glance, and lingered a moment at the door.
“It was our little sister Milly,” she said softly. “This was her room years ago. She was more than twenty years younger than Adoniram and I.”
“Then she died?” queried Don softly, still gazing up at the smiling face.