Junius Cobb rubbed his eyes in confusion. He comprehended the situation at once, and also remembered the President's words of the night before, when he said, "Hugh Craft still lives." Hugh Craft bowed, and moved behind his sister's chair, and whispered: "Is he dangerous?" Cobb, as he turned around, overheard the words, and smiled. "No, Hugh," he exclaimed; "not dangerous, but amazed. You are the exact image and counterpart of him who was my dearest and best friend, your--" he hesitated a moment--"your great-great-grandfather." Hugh and Mollie looked bewildered, while Mr. Craft's face wore a smile. The situation was too comical, and all burst into a hearty laugh, Cobb joining the others. "It is funny, is it not, to hear me talking of having been the friend and chum of this man's great-great-grandfather?" A few moments and everything had been fully explained to Hugh, who had been absent a week, and had not heard that Cobb was at the executive mansion. "Dear brother," said Mollie, as she put her arms about the young man's neck and kissed him, "I want you and Mr. Cobb to be brothers; to be to each other as your great-great-grandfather and he were long years ago." "Hugh," said his father, "as you have returned so opportunely, you can take charge of Mr. Cobb--Junius, let us call him, if he does not object--until time for the reception. I have some work to attend to, and I know Junius will excuse me--will you not?" to him. "Certainly. Do not let my presence interfere with your work; and let me thank you for calling me Junius. I hope you will always continue to do so." For an hour these three--Hugh, Junius, and Mollie--sat and chatted. To Cobb it seemed very home-like and most pleasant, and his companions so kind and natural. Hugh was so like that other Hugh, and Mollie so charming and witty, that he scarcely realized, as Hugh looked at his watch and said that they had better dress, that an hour had passed away. On their way to their rooms, Cobb suddenly said: "By the bye, Hugh, I wish to ask you a question. This morning, as I was about to arise, I heard someone singing in my room. It was not a very melodious voice, but nevertheless clear and distinct; something like 'Get up, arise; the hour is late!' Can you explain it?" "Nothing easier. It was my old phonograph clock--one I picked up at a pawn-shop one day--a relic of fifty years back;" and he laughed at the thought of his friend's perplexity at hearing the words ground out of the machine. "Why did I not think of that?" petulantly. "Why, they were just getting them out in 1887. Do you not have them now?"