Mrs. Noah was not at heart an unkind woman, and something in the benignant expression of grandpa’s face, or in the apologetic tone of his voice, mollified her somewhat, and without further comment she stood waiting for his next remark. It was a most unfortunate one, for though as free from weakness as most of her sex, Mrs. Noah was terribly sensitive as to her age, and the same census-taker would never venture twice within her precincts. Glancing at her dress, which was this leisure afternoon much smarter than usual, grandpa concluded she could not be a servant; and as she seemed to have a right to say where he should drive and where he should not, the meek old man concluded she was a near relation of Guy—mother, perhaps; but no, Guy’s mother was dead, as grandpa well knew, for all Devonshire had heard of the young bride Agnes, who had married Guy’s father for money and rank. To have been mistaken for Guy’s mother would not have offended Mrs. Noah particularly; but how was she shocked when Grandpa Markham said: “I come on business with Squire Guy. Are you his gran’marm?” “His gran’marm!” and Mrs. Noah bit off the last syllable spitefully. “Bless you, man, Squire Guy, as you call him, is twenty-five years old.” As Grandpa Markham was rather blind, he failed to see the point, but knew that in some way he had given offense. “I beg your pardon, ma’am; I was sure you was some kin—maybe an a’nt.” No, she was not even that; but willing enough to let the old man believe her a lady of the Remington order, she did not explain that she was simply the housekeeper, she simply said: “If it’s Mr. Guy you want, I can tell you he is not at home, which will save your getting out.” “Not at home, and I’ve come so far to see him!” grandpa exclaimed, and in his voice there was so much genuine disappointment that Mrs. Noah rejoined, quite kindly: “He’s gone over to Devonshire with the young lady his stepmother. Perhaps you might tell your business to me; I know all Mr. Guy’s affairs.” “If I might come in, ma’am,” he answered, meekly, as through the open door he caught glimpses of a cheerful fire. “It’s mighty chilly for such as me.” He did look cold and blue, Mrs. Noah thought, and she bade him come in, feeling a very little contempt for the old-fashioned camlet cloak in which his feet became entangled, and smiling inwardly at the shrunken, faded pantaloons, betokening poverty. “As you know all Squire Guy’s affairs,” grandpa said, when he was seated before the fire, “maybe you could tell whether he would be likely to lend a stranger three hundred dollars, and that stranger me?”