After supper, when all the preparations for the trip were completed, and the cheerful presence of Uncle Jimpson and Aunt Caroline removed, the Colonel and Miss Lady sat before the dying fire, and tried to make conversation. Outside wet branches swept the windows, and sudden gusts of rain beat against the panes. “Thirty years since I saw some of the old boys,” the Colonel said, trying to warm up to his coming journey. “I'll miss old Professor Queerington, but John Jay will be there. We are planning to come home together. Fine man, he is, fine man!” “Who? Oh, yes, Doctor Queerington.” “Just a little boy when I boarded at his father's. He can't be much over forty now. The smartest man the old college ever turned out! And just as good as he's smart. A little too much book learning maybe, and not any too much common sense, but there ain't many heads built to carry both. He's sound though, sound to the core, and that's saying a good deal these days. What's the matter? Sleepy?” “No, just the fidgets. Say, Daddy, what do you suppose they will do with Mr. Dillingham, if he is convicted?” “Penitentiary offense, I hear. But Noah says they'll get him off. Old General Dillingham has plenty of money, and friends at court. He'll take care of his grandson.” “But if he is cleared,” began Miss Lady, “that throws the guilt on--” “Now see here,” interrupted the Colonel, “you stop bothering your little head about that trial. Go over there and play me a couple of good old tunes, and then we'll both trot to bed.” Miss Lady's soft untrained voice began bravely enough. She described with feeling the charms of Annie Laurie, and was half way through Robin Adair before she faltered, started anew, stumbled again, then came to an ignominious halt. “Tut! tut!” said the Colonel fussily, getting himself out of his chair in an incredibly short time for so stout a gentleman. “This won't do, you know; this ain't right!” “It's that silly old piece!” said Miss Lady petulantly. “It always works on my feelings.” “But it wouldn't make you cry like this. Come, tell me.” “There's nothing to tell--that is--” “Well, never mind then. Just cry it out. That's right. Don't mind me. Just your old Dad.” And with much fussing and petting and foolish assurances that he was her Daddy, he got her over to the sofa. Sitting on the floor with her arms across his knees, she wept with the abandonment of a child, while his short, stubby fingers tenderly stroked her shining hair. At last when the storm had subsided and she was able to look up, he took her face between his hands. “Out with it, kitten!” he demanded. “What's troubling you? Don Morley business?” She kissed his nearest hand. “Thought so. You--you got to like him pretty well, eh?” She nodded between her sobs. “Better 'n most anybody?” he asked it jealously, but unflinchingly. “Except you, Daddy.” It was a faint whisper, but it was reassuring. “And what about him?” the Colonel continued.