Little Pet was so grieved at the man’s sorrowful attitude that he went up to him and encircled Norman’s neck with his chubby arms, and inquired tenderly: “Oo kyin’ tause pretty yady gone?” The young man caught him in his arms, straining him to his breast, and again gazed eagerly into his lovely face. “My little darling, what if it were to prove true?” he muttered hoarsely; then, looking around at Mrs. Meade, he asked: “Do you know where Mrs. Laurens, the mother of poor little Pansy, lives?” “No, I do not know,” she replied; and a look of bitter disappointment came over his face. “I have been trying ever since I came home to trace that woman,” he exclaimed. “I remember that just before I went away she was married a second time, and went on a bridal tour with her husband. But I do not know the name of the person she married, nor where she is living now, for she has moved away from where she resided when I went away.” Was it fate, or only a blind chance, for at that moment there came along the walk a plainly dressed, stooping figure, with a sad, worn face that had once been very pretty, though now faded and forlorn. Norman had seen Pansy’s mother only once, but he recognized her again in this passer-by, and, springing to his feet, exclaimed: “Mrs. Laurens!” The pale, sad-looking creature recoiled from him with a frightened denial: “I--I--that is not my name!” Norman caught her wrist in a firm yet tender clasp, for she was trying to get away. “Wait!” he said sternly. “Denials are useless, for I know that you are Mrs. Laurens, and I think you know that I am Norman Wylde. I was just speaking about you and wishing I knew where to find you. I want you to tell me the truth about this child here. Is it not your daughter Pansy’s?” “No--oh, no!” she exclaimed wildly; but just then Mrs. Meade exclaimed surprisedly: “La, me, that’s the very woman I have seen dozens of times, hanging about when I took Pet out, but never mistrusted who she was!” Mrs. Laurens looked at her imploringly, and faltered out: “You must be mistaken. I never saw you before, ma’am.” “Well, I never!” ejaculated the housekeeper, and little Pet himself gave the lie to Mrs. Laurens’ denial, for he came to her with a smile, and cooed sweetly: “Is oo dot any more tandy to-day?” “You see, the child knows you. Confess the truth now! Are you not his own grandmother?” exclaimed Norman, low but eagerly. Mrs. Laurens writhed under his grasp, and looked from right to left with frightened eyes. “Answer me!” persisted Norman. But a dogged look came over her face, and she replied: “No, my daughter Pansy never had a child. Why do you want to throw disgrace on my poor dead girl?” And she suddenly burst into tears, and, tugging at his hand, wailed out: “Oh, let me go! I promised to meet my daughter Alice when she was coming home from the factory, and--and--it’s past the closing time now.”