She spent the next few hours with folded hands, her mind far in the past that was recalled by seeing the name of John Brierly. She lived over again those girlhood years when the world with John in it seemed the most beautiful place on earth. She thought of her mother's failing health, her helplessness, her dependence. She could almost hear her cry, "Don't leave me, Drusilla, don't leave me!" when John went to her and asked that they might marry and meet life's battles together. Drusilla never for a moment blamed her mother for her selfishness in demanding all and giving nothing; and she never would admit, even to herself, that her mother's obstinacy in refusing either to go with John and Drusilla or to give her consent that they live with her, had ruined her life. Those years of bitterness were past, and now she remembered only the happy days when she and John were together and life seemed just one flowery path on which they walked together. At last she rose and rang for the butler and asked him to telephone Mr. Thornton. She could never get used to the telephone herself. She wanted Mr. Thornton to come to her on his way home. She passed the day impatiently awaiting his arrival. She could not occupy herself with the flowers, nor could the baby at the gardener's cottage evoke any enthusiasm, although she carefully looked over the clothing of one of the younger Donalds that kindly Mrs. Donald had contributed for the baby's use. At last the lawyer arrived. Drusilla hardly allowed him to be seated before she broached the subject. "Mr. Thornton, I want you to do me a great favor. I just read in the paper that an--an old friend of mine that I thought dead long ago, is living in a little town in southern Ohio. I want to know how he is getting along, what he is doing, how he is living. I want you to send some one out there and find out all about it. I want to know if he's comfortable off, and happy. He may be poor, and he may be lonely. Find out all about him, and let me know." The lawyer started to say something. "No, don't say a word, and don't talk about writin' out. That ain't what I want. I want to _know_, and letters won't tell me nothing. Do this for me--send some one; 'cause if you don't I'll start myself to-morrow. I'm goin' to know how life's usin' John Brierly." She leaned over and touched the lawyer's hand. "Don't always be agin me, Mr. Thornton. I got my heart in this. John Brierly meant all the world to me once, and although I'm old now I ain't forgot. There's _some_ things, you know, we don't forget." Mr. Thornton looked at the flushed old face before him, and a softness came into his voice that surprised even himself. "I'll do it at once, Miss Doane. I'm always glad to be of any service to you." "I'm glad to hear you say it; though sometimes you have to be backed into the shafts. But you will send at once--to-morrow?" "Yes, I'll--let me see--I'll send Mr. Burns."