"That's because I succeeded; if I'd failed, and sticking to my guns had lost us the first offer, without getting a second one, you'd hardly have forgiven me, Prudy. I begin to see why this is called an unjust world," said Rob, wisely. "But I'm ravenous, dear folkses--can't you feed a poor wanderer, while she tells her story?" "Rob, dear, we are devouring you so hard with our eyes and ears and hearts we forget how tired you must be!" exclaimed Wythie, self-reproachfully. "We made some fresh gingerbread, in case of company from the metropolis, and we've some freshest fresh eggs from Mr. Flinders to-day--you shall not starve long, dearie." Wythie felt as though her sister were undefinably changed by this short absence, and was half afraid that Rob was growing up. "And little Polly Flinders?" asked Rob. "How's the poor mite?" "Wonderfully well; she begged to be allowed to stay up to see if you wouldn't come to-night," smiled Mrs. Grey. "Let me go get her; it won't hurt her to bring her down, wrapped up in her gown. She'll like to hear me tell my story, even if she doesn't understand much about it." And without waiting for an objection Rob disappeared, and came back quickly, bearing a sleepy but happy Polly done up in a scarlet dressing-gown, who was fondling her face as she carried her, and whom she deposited in a dining-room chair, tucking her feet up well in the wrapper before she took the place Wythie and Prue had hastily prepared for her at the old table. "How thankful I am this mahogany didn't go!" sighed Rob. "We're going to be prosperous Greys henceforth, though I don't know yet the extent of our riches. Now, sit ye down, my bonny, bonny lassies, Mardy, Wythie, and Prue, and I will sing the adventures of Roberta the Bold in the Great City of Gotham. No, I don't want any more bread than this, Mardy, but if I did I'd get it--please sit down and listen." Prue pulled up a chair, and leaned on her elbows well over toward the middle of the table, drawing a long breath of contented yet impatient interest. Wythie placed her chair close to Rob's side, and laid her arm over her sister's shoulders, while the mother Grey took her favorite low rocker, and folded her hands, looking with eyes warm with love and moist with tender, proud tears at her husband's "son Rob," as she told the story of her defence of his invention. "And that's all," ended Rob, at last, having related every incident of her visit, from her bewilderment as she left the station, and the big policeman's kindness, to Mr. Baldwin's fatherly parting from her in the Grand Central. "I did hold out against you all not to take the offer, but nothing else is due to me. It is all that blessed Mr. Baldwin, and I only hope I can some day make him understand how grateful I am--and to his sweet wife and Hester, too; they were like--well, you can't say like one's own kindred, for they were more thoughtful and loving to me than some of our kindred are."