“My life has been sad in many ways in spite of great wealth,” he said. “My parents died in my early childhood, and I was brought up by an uncle and aunt who are all now dead, so that I have really no near relatives, having been an only child. But now I shall arrange to marry Leola very soon, and my beautiful home on the Hudson, Bonnie View, will have a fitting mistress in my lovely bride. As for you, my dear friend, in return for all your kindness, I want you to come to us when we are married and make your home at Bonnie View as Leola’s companion.” He was disappointed when she declined, gently but decidedly, to accept his offer, and when he pressed for a reason the good woman said, simply: “I cannot leave the little cottage where I came a bride, for the sweetest memories of life cluster around this humble spot. Here my two sweet children, my boy and girl, were born, and here they and my husband passed away from me to the Better Land. Here they return in spirit to brood over my lonely life in love and sympathy, and if I went away perhaps they could not find me easily, or perhaps they would not be as well pleased as here, where we were all so happy together. When my earthly life is ended they will come to soothe my last hours and bear me company to my heavenly home, so I must wait for them here, where they watch over me daily, and I am happier so than anywhere else.” Her words sounded strange to Chester Olyphant in the glow of his love and youth, loving the world and its gay companionship, but he read on her placid features a peace and resignation he could not understand, and ceased to urge her to change her home, only stipulating that he and Leola should at least have a long visit from her at Bonnie View, to which she cheerfully assented. So now, at his strange absence, her heart sank with dread, for last night at her window the wind in the pine tree had sobbed like ghastly voices, and she remembered that it had sounded just so before each calamity that had darkened her life, vaguely foretelling sorrow. “Something bad has surely happened to the poor young man, for he would never have gone away like this with no explanation,” she sighed, as she went, restlessly, about her household duties, with a heart as heavy as lead. On the next afternoon she took her knitting out on the front porch watching, eagerly, up and down the road, for a sight of the absentee, but all in vain. Suddenly she heard childish voices, and saw four little lads coming in at her front gate--little fair-haired, blue-eyed boys, “stairsteps,” she called them--their ages ranging from eight to twelve. Widow Gray knew all these neighbor boys very well, and had often entertained them on her front door-step with apples and ginger-bread cookies, for they were adventurous little fellows, brothers and cousins, who often stole away from their homes to explore little caves roundabout, leaving their doting mammas in wild panics over their absence.