“Uncle Jacob!” she cried, tenderly; “it seems as if you are _really_ that to me now; and I am so glad that you have told me how you have loved my grandmother, and I shall try more than ever after this to make your life as bright as possible. I do not see how any one could ever have treated you unkindly or disrespectfully.” Uncle Jacob smiled fondly at her. “I know there is one at least who treats me kindly for my own sake, and who would share all her laurels with me. My child, I was very proud of you to-night.” “And I of you,” Star added, quickly. “I never saw you look so nice—so like an _aristocratic_ old gentleman.” He laughed, such a bright, hearty laugh that she wondered to see him so pleased over her little compliment. “Now, good-night,” he said, rising; “I want you to be as fresh as possible to-morrow.” He led her to the door of her room, and then, with a softly breathed “God bless you!” sought his own. God bless you! Those words rang in Star’s ears. Was he beginning to believe in her God, after all? She hoped so—she _prayed_ so. But she did not go directly to bed, as he bade her; his story had strangely stirred her heart, and she could not rest until she had decided some questions that were troubling her. She opened a drawer of her dressing-case, and taking that worn portfolio to which we have before referred from it, unlocked it, and drew forth a sealed package. “Papa told me to wait until I was eighteen before I opened and read it,” she said, musingly; “but a few hours can make no difference, and I feel now as if I must know if he was _her_ son, and why he never would tell me anything about his family.” With reverent fingers she broke the seals, a sob rising to her lips as she thought whose hand had fastened them there, and how tenderly it used to stroke her hair and call her “My bright little Star.” The package contained several papers, and it took her more than an hour to examine them; but when she had read them through, there was a look of wonder in her large blue eyes and an almost blank expression on her white face. CHAPTER XXIV. WHAT NEXT? Star Gladstone’s eighteenth birthday dawned as bright and charming as it was possible for a morning to be. At eight o’clock she and Mr. Rosevelt sat down to their breakfast, and a merry meal they made of it, for both appeared in the best of spirits, in spite of the sad and exciting events of the previous evening upon which they had conversed. About nine a handsome carriage drove to their humble abode, and the driver rang and asked for the “gentleman and lady who were going for a drive in the park.” Star looked surprised as she peered from the window and saw a pair of sleek, coal-black horses, with their silver-mounted harnesses, and the shining, velvet-lined coach. “Uncle Jacob, did you order that carriage to come for us?” she asked.