is where Uncle Henry showed his fine Spencerian hand," commented
the Harvester. "It always will be a great satisfaction that I got my
fist in first."

"Is Miss Jameson here?"

"No," said the Harvester. "My wife is at home. Her surname was Ruth
Jameson, but we have been married since June. Did you wish to speak with
Mrs. Langston?"

"I came for that purpose. My name is Kennedy. I am the law partner and
the closest friend of the young lady's grandfather. News of her location
has prostrated her grandmother so that he could not leave her, and I was
sent to bring the young woman."

"Oh!" said the Harvester. "Well you will have to interview her about
that. One word first. She does not know that I sent those pictures and
made that inquiry. One other word. She is just recovering from a case of
fever, induced by wrong conditions of life before I met her. She is not
so strong as she appears. Understand you are not to be abrupt. Go very
gently! Her feelings and health must be guarded with extreme care."

The Harvester opened the door, and as she saw the stranger, the Girl's
eyes widened, and she arose and stood waiting.

"Ruth," said the Harvester, "this is a man who has been making quite a
search for you, and at last he has you located."

The Harvester went to the Girl's side, and put a reinforcing arm around
her.

"Perhaps he brings you some news that will make life most interesting
and very lovely for you. Will you shake hands with Mr. Kennedy?"

The Girl suddenly straightened to unusual height.

"I will hear why he has been making 'quite a search for me,' and on
whose authority he has me 'located,' first," she said.

A diabolical grin crossed the face of the Harvester, and he took heart.

"Then please be seated, Mr. Kennedy," he said, "and we will talk over
the matter. As I understand, you are a representative of my wife's
people."

The Girl stared at the Harvester.

"Take your chair, Ruth, and meet this as a matter of course," he
advised casually. "You always have known that some day it must come.
You couldn't look in the face of those photographs of your mother in her
youth and not realize that somewhere hearts were aching and breaking,
and brains were busy in a search for her."

The Girl stood rigid.

"I want it distinctly understood," she said, "that I have no use on
earth for my mother's people. They come too late. I absolutely refuse to
see or to hold any communication with them."

"But young lady,