"Then _that's_ all right,"--Tom gave her arm a tight squeeze. "Isn't that our house?" he inquired, as the light from Mrs. Page's room twinkled in the distance. "Why, yes, but how did you know?" Janet asked, surprised. "Oh, I was ten years old before I left for school," Tom explained. "You were a tiny baby then." Janet lapsed into another thoughtful silence. "Tom," she said seriously, "why didn't you ever come back!" Tom's voice was very gentle as he answered her: "That, little sister of mine," he said, "is one of the many things I am going to tell you about after I have talked to your grandmother." CHAPTER XIII THE GREATEST SURPRISE IN THE WORLD Janet tiptoed down stairs and stole softly out into the garden. It was very early in the morning, and even Martha was still asleep. But there was no sleep for Janet. Her eyes had been wide open since the first streak of pale light had fallen slantwise across her floor. For hours she had tossed restlessly, and at last, unable to stand it any longer, she had dressed. It was the morning after Tom's arrival. Janet thought over the events of the night before and frowned. As soon as they had entered the house he had gone straight to his grandmother's room, and she had not seen him since. She and Martha had sat up until after ten and then, very much against her will, she had gone to bed and listened for a long time to the murmur of voices in the room below. At first her grandmother's querulous tones had predominated, but after a while Tom's low rumble sounded comfortingly in her ears, and she had slipped off to sleep. This morning, as she thought about it, she tried to imagine all that had been said behind that closed door, but she found it impossible. Why there should be anything to discuss, she couldn't imaging. Other people lived without an air of mystery surrounding them, and at this moment of Janet's life she envied those people with all her heart. Once several years before she had asked her grandmother to tell her about her mother and father. Mrs. Page had told her there was nothing to tell, and had forbidden her ever to speak of the subject again. She had looked so gray and sick as she said it that Janet had been frightened, and she had never ventured to refer to it again except to Martha, and all Martha could tell her was that her mother had been a dear patient saint and her father the finest man that ever lived. Janet had tried to picture them from this description, and up until a year before she had been contented. Now she wanted to know more. Mrs. Todd, too, had made her think. She looked up at Tom's window impatiently, and as she looked the shade moved and Tom put his head out. "Hello!" he called down softly. "I knew you'd be up with the birds. Wait a jiffy, and I'll be down with you."