ns came only a day after this conversation. It came in the form
of another letter from Madeline and one from Mrs. Fosdick. They were, so
the latter wrote, back once more in their city home, her nerves, thank
Heaven, were quite strong again, and they were expecting him, Albert, to
come on at once. "We are all dying to see you," wrote Mrs. Fosdick. "And
poor, dear Madeline, of course, is counting the moments."

"Stay as long as you feel like, Al," said the captain, when told of the
proposed visit. "It's the dull season at the office, anyhow, and Labe
and I can get along first-rate, with Issy to superintend. Stay as long
as you want to, only--"

"Only what, Grandfather?"

"Only don't want to stay too long. That is, don't fall in love with New
York so hard that you forget there is such a place as South Harniss."

Albert smiled. "I've been in places farther away than New York," he
said, "and I never forgot South Harniss."

"Um-hm. . . . Well, I shouldn't be surprised if that was so. But you'll
have better company in New York than you did in some of those places.
Give my regards to Fosdick. So-long, Al."

CHAPTER XVI

The Fosdick car was at the Grand Central Station when the Knickerbocker
Limited pulled in. And Madeline, a wonderfully furred and veiled and
hatted Madeline, was waiting there behind the rail as he came up the
runway from the train. It was amazing the fact that it was really she.
It was more amazing still to kiss her there in public, to hold her hand
without fear that some one might see. To--

"Shall I take your bags, sir?"

It was the Fosdick footman who asked it. Albert started guiltily. Then
he laughed, realizing that the hand-holding and the rest were no longer
criminal offenses. He surrendered his luggage to the man. A few minutes
later he and Madeline were in the limousine, which was moving rapidly
up the Avenue. And Madeline was asking questions and he was answering
and--and still it was all a dream. It COULDN'T be real.

It was even more like a dream when the limousine drew up before the door
of the Fosdick home and they entered that home together. For there was
Mrs. Fosdick, as ever majestic, commanding, awe-inspiring, the same Mrs.
Fosdick who had, in her letter to his grandfather, written him down a
despicable, underhanded sneak, here was that same Mrs. Fosdick--but not
at all the same. For this lady was smiling and gracious, welcoming him
to her home, addressing him by his Christian