Mr. Keeler answered. “Yes, ma'am,” he declared emphatically, “that's who 'tis. Here we be--er--er--what's-your-name--Edward. Jump right out.” His passenger alighted from the buggy. The woman bent forward to look at him, her hands clasped. “It--it's Albert, isn't it?” she asked. The boy nodded. “Yes,” he said. The hands unclasped and she held them out toward him. “Oh, Albert,” she cried, “I'm your grandmother. I--” The man interrupted. “Wait till we get him inside, Olive,” he said. “Come in, son.” Then, addressing the driver, he ordered: “Labe, take the horse and team out to the barn and unharness for me, will you?” “Ye-es, yes, yes,” replied Mr. Keeler. “Yes indeed, Cap'n. Take her right along--right off. Yes indeedy. Git dap!” He drove off toward the end of the yard, where a large building, presumably a barn, loomed black against the dark sky. He sang as he drove and the big man on the step looked after him and sniffed suspiciously. Meanwhile the boy had followed the little woman into the house through a small front hall, from which a narrow flight of stairs shot aloft with almost unbelievable steepness, and into a large room. Albert had a swift impression of big windows full of plants, of pictures of ships and schooners on the walls, of a table set for four. “Take your things right off,” cried his grandmother. “Here, I'll take 'em. There! now turn 'round and let me look at you. Don't move till I get a good look.” He stood perfectly still while she inspected him from head to foot. “You've got her mouth,” she said slowly. “Yes, you've got her mouth. Her hair and eyes were brown and yours are black, but--but I THINK you look like her. Oh, I did so want you to! May I kiss you, Albert? I'm your grandmother, you know.” With embarrassed shyness he leaned forward while she put her arms about his neck and kissed him on the cheek. As he straightened again he became aware that the big man had entered the room and was regarding him intently beneath a pair of shaggy gray eyebrows. Mrs. Snow turned. “Oh, Zelotes,” she cried, “he's got Janie's mouth, don't you think so? And he DOES look like her, doesn't he?” Her husband shook his head. “Maybe so, Mother,” he said, with a half smile. “I ain't a great hand for locatin' who folks look like. How are you, boy? Glad to see you. I'm your grandfather, you know.” They shook hands, while each inspected and made a mental estimate of the other. Albert saw a square, bearded jaw, a firm mouth, gray eyes with many wrinkles at the corners, and a shock of thick gray hair. The eyes had a way of looking straight at you, through you, as if reading your thoughts, divining your motives and making a general appraisal of you and them.