At the park, Jeanne had another embarrassing moment when Clara maliciously pointed out the tree that Jeanne had climbed; but Allen had pretended not to hear. Harold, who had carried an umbrella because Pearl had insisted, slashed the shrubbery with it and used it to prod the animals. He annoyed the rabbits, tormented the parrots, the sea lion, and finally the monkeys. "Quit it," said Allen. "You're a sissy," retorted Harold, unpleasantly. "No, I'm not. _Men_ don't torment animals." "Harold _always_ does," said Pearl. "It's hard enough to live in a cage," said Jeanne, "without being poked. There! Mr. Monkey has torn your umbrella." "Little brute!" snarled Harold, aiming a deadly thrust at the small offender. "I'll teach you--" Allen wrenched the umbrella from his angry cousin. "Let _me_ carry it," said he. "There's a guard coming and you might get into trouble." Allen's visit lasted for only five days. Jeanne was sorry that he couldn't stay for five years. _He_ respected her father. If that had been his _only_ admirable trait, Jeanne would have liked him. "Remember," said Allen, at parting, "that I am to act as your guide three years and three months from now." "I won't forget," promised Jeanne, who had gone to the station with her cousins to see the visitor off. "I have your address and I learned in school how to write a long, long telegram in _less_ than ten words. You'll surely get it some nice warm day in June, three and a quarter years from now." How Jeannette kept this promise, you will discover later. CHAPTER XVI AN OLD ALBUM "There's a great big piece of news in my letter from daddy," confided Jeanne, who had been summoned to sit with her grandfather. He had been alone for longer than he liked. Since his illness, indeed, he seemed to like someone with him; and Jeanne was usually the only person available. "What kind of news?" he asked. "Good news, I guess. My stepgrandmother is gone forever. And I'm sort of glad." "What! Is she dead?" "Oh, no! I wouldn't be glad of _that_. You see, she had a bad son named John, who ran away from home ever so long ago. He was older than Mollie. His mother and everybody thought he was dead--it was so long since they'd heard anything from him. But he wasn't. He was _working_. They never guessed he'd do that. He hadn't any children, but he had a real good wife--a very _saving_ one. After she died he didn't have anybody, so he thought of his poor old mother--" "About time, I should think." "Yes, _wasn't_ it? Well, he went to Bancroft to hunt for his mother, and he's taken her to St. Louis to live. He gave Mollie some money for clothes and quilts and things; but it won't do a mite of good." "Why not?"