"But my brave Rob did it all, none the less," said her mother. "I can't thank her for her loyal courage, but I hope her Patergrey can do it for me." And she kissed Rob with a long, clinging kiss that the girl, happy through her tears, felt was not from her mother only. Polly fell asleep again as Rob talked, and when the triumphant traveller's repast was over, and Prue had volunteered to clear away the reminders, as if, for the first time in her life, she welcomed the chance to serve Rob, the little grey house was closed for the night, and lights appeared in its low upper windows, for Mrs. Grey insisted that tired Rob must be got to bed. It took a long time getting there, however; Prue flitted in and out of her sisters' room, not to be deprived of any part of the steady flow of talk going on there, for the mere telling of facts is never all of any story worth telling. Long after Prue had reluctantly subsided, the "ss-ss-s" of whispering drifted out in the darkness from Wythie and Rob's bed, but finally they whispered themselves to sleep, and silence rested over the little grey house which its brave daughter had saved. Breakfast was scarcely over, when Polly, wiping dishes, announced: "Here's father!" and the Greys saw Mr. Flinders approaching, his right hand bearing a yellow envelope, held with the handle of a large basket tightly grasped, and his face bearing a most unwonted smile. "I come to see Roberta--Mr. Abbit, down to the depot, said you'd got back--and my wife she said she thought you'd like some 'f her jelly," said Mr. Flinders. "She said she'd like to know if Polly wasn't about ready to come home." Polly looked doubtful. "I'd like to come, if Rob wasn't here," she said. "I'll go away, Pollykins, go away again, if you say so," smiled Rob. "I think she's well now--don't you, Mardy? Perhaps you ought to go see your mother, dear. She's lonely with no little Polly Flinders among her cinders." "Polly is quite welcome, Mr. Flinders," said Mrs. Grey, "but if you need her I think she is well enough to be dismissed from our little grey hospital." Farmer Flinders shuffled his feet uneasily. "She said I'd ought to tell you, but I d'know's I know how," he began, embarrassed. "We're a good deal obliged to you for all you've done for Maimie, an' I can see my way to carryin' on this place on equal shares next summer, countin' from now. I guess half'll be 'bout what I'll take in the future, 'stead of two-thirds."