“Seems funny to you, I presume likely,” she said. “Well, now you think about it. This General Rolleson man was kind of proud and sot in his ways just as your grandpa is, Albert. He had a daughter he thought all the world of; so did Cap'n Lote. Along come a person that wanted to marry the daughter. In the book 'twas Robert Penfold, who had been a convict. In your grandpa's case, 'twas your pa, who had been a play-actor. So you see--” Albert sat up on the sofa. “Hold on!” he interrupted indignantly. “Do you mean to compare my father with a--with a CONVICT? I want you to understand--” Mrs. Ellis held up the dust-cloth. “Now, now, now,” she protested. “Don't go puttin' words in my mouth that I didn't say. I don't doubt your pa was a nice man, in his way, though I never met him. But 'twan't Cap'n Lote's way any more than Robert Penfold's was General Rolleson's.” “My father was famous,” declared the youth hotly. “He was one of the most famous singers in this country. Everybody knows that--that is, everybody but Grandfather and the gang down here,” he added, in disgust. “I don't say you're wrong. Laban tells me that some of those singin' folks get awful high wages, more than the cap'n of a steamboat, he says, though that seems like stretchin' it to me. But, as I say, Cap'n Lote was proud, and nobody but the best would satisfy him for Janie, your mother. Well, in that way, you see, he reminds me of General Rolleson in the book.” “Look here, Mrs. Ellis. Tell me about this business of Dad's marrying my mother. I never knew much of anything about it.” “You didn't? Did your pa never tell you?” “No.” “Humph! That's funny. Still, I don't know's as 'twas, after all, considerin' you was only a boy. Probably he'd have told you some day. Well, I don't suppose there's any secret about it. 'Twas town talk down here when it happened.” She told him the story of the runaway marriage. Albert listened with interest and the almost incredulous amazement with which the young always receive tales of their parents' love affairs. Love, for people of his age or a trifle older, was a natural and understandable thing, but for his father, as he remembered him, to have behaved in this way was incomprehensible. “So,” said Rachel, in conclusion, “that's how it happened. That's why Cap'n Lote couldn't ever forgive your father.” He tossed his head. “Well, he ought to have forgiven him,” he declared. “He was dead lucky to get such a man for a son-in-law, if you ask me.” “He didn't think so. And he wouldn't ever mention your pa's name.” “Oh, I don't doubt that. Anybody can see how he hated Father. And he hates me the same way,” he added moodily.