"Oh, I beg your pardon--I didn't mean to speak of father to you," she cried. "But he told me you had been your father's comfort and help, and were now the only one to understand and fulfil his desires--save his reputation, I think he said. Now, maybe you are more fortunate than I, for I am no use at all, and I never shall do anything for my father in all my life, probably. I think that is worse than your sorrow." "You can't help doing for him if you love him," said Rob, rather at a loss to answer this morbid speech, yet recognizing the tactful kindness prompting it. "It is all he wants, to know that you are good and love him. Patergrey loved my love for him more than my help on the machine. But it does comfort me to know I did help, and if your father really thinks I'm saving the day for dear Patergrey's invention now I shall almost learn after a while not to be sorry, but half glad that he is happy, and that I did something for him when he couldn't do it himself." "Oh, yes," cried Hester, with conviction. "I think I shouldn't feel badly if I were you--I don't mean I shouldn't miss him, but you have been your father's comfort. It is perfectly dreadful to be of no use." "Everybody is of use, I guess," said Rob. "And the best ones don't know it. What a lovely room!" "Is it?" said Hester. "I don't care much for it--I'd like a little house in the country. I think maybe I shall go into a college settlement when I'm old enough." "Dear me," thought Rob, "what a queer girl! She ought to do housework, and bother about money for a while, and then she'd find out!" But she only said: "You'd like the little grey house, then. It's old-fashioned, and not a bit handsome, but it is dear, and Fayre is a small place--country enough." "How pretty it is, calling the house 'the little grey house'! It is because your name is Grey, isn't it?" asked Hester. "Both reasons--we're Grey, and the house is all time-and-weather-stained grey, too," Rob answered, shaking her hair out over the dressing-sacque Hester laid over her shoulders. "I haven't anything to put on, except clean collars and cuffs." "It doesn't matter; we're alone, and black is always full dress and full undress," said Hester. "If I had your hair I shouldn't care about dresses. Are your sisters pretty, too?" "They are very pretty. Wythie--Oswyth--is older than I, a year, and she's just sweetness--looks, and character, and all. And Prue, the youngest, is a beauty," said Rob, proudly. "To think of having two sisters!" sighed Hester, laying out Rob's fresh little hemstitched "turnover" collar.