, and the lady not at all disturbed, the colonel
did not interrupt them for a while. But when the lady at length rose,
holding Phil by the hand, the colonel, fearing that the boy, who was a
child of strong impulses, prone to sudden friendships, might be
proving troublesome, left his seat on the flat-topped tomb of his
Revolutionary ancestor and hastened to meet them.

"I trust my boy hasn't annoyed you," he said, lifting his hat.

"Not at all, sir," returned the lady, in a clear, sweet voice, some
haunting tone of which found an answering vibration in the colonel's
memory. "On the contrary, he has interested me very much, and in
nothing more than in telling me his name. If this and my memory do not
deceive me, _you_ are Henry French!"

"Yes, and you are--you are Laura Treadwell! How glad I am to meet you!
I was coming to call this afternoon."

"I'm glad to see you again. We have always remembered you, and knew
that you had grown rich and great, and feared that you had forgotten
the old town--and your old friends."

"Not very rich, nor very great, Laura--Miss Treadwell."

"Let it be Laura," she said with a faint colour mounting in her cheek,
which had not yet lost its smoothness, as her eyes had not faded, nor
her step lost its spring.

"And neither have I forgotten the old home nor the old friends--since
I am here and knew you the moment I looked at you and heard your
voice."

"And what a dear little boy!" exclaimed Miss Treadwell, looking down
at Phil. "He is named Philip--after his grandfather, I reckon?"

"After his grandfather. We have been visiting his grave, and those of
all the Frenches; and I found them haunted--by an old retainer, who
had come hither, he said, to be with his friends."

"Old Peter! I see him, now and then, keeping the lot in order. There
are few like him left, and there were never any too many. But how have
you been these many years, and where is your wife? Did you bring her
with you?"

"I buried her," returned the colonel, "a little over a year ago. She
left me little Phil."

"He must be like her," replied the lady, "and yet he resembles you."

"He has her eyes and hair," said his father. "He is a good little boy
and a lad of taste. See how he took to you at first sight! I can
always trust Phil's instincts. He is a born gentleman."

"He came of a race of gentlemen," she said. "I'm glad it is not to
die out. There are none too many left--in Clarendon. You are going to
like me,