ront door laden with their gifts. Anna May bore with
proud carefulness the cherished bottle of grape juice while Elizabeth
cuddled a fat white ball in her arms, the pen wiper lying like a little
blanket on the puppy's back.

"We came to call as soon as we could this morning, because we thought
you looked sad yesterday," was Anna May's salutation as Grace opened the
door. "Here's a bottle of grape juice. Mother made it specially for me,
but I want _you_ to have it," the child said. Grace ushered her guests
into the living room.

"I hope you'll like this pen wiper, too. I cut it out and sewed it and
everything," burst forth Elizabeth, holding out her offering. "I hope
you'll always use it when you write letters."

"Thank you, girls. You are both very good to me," smiled Grace, "and I'm
so glad to see you this morning."

"We thought you would be," returned Anna May calmly. "We brought
Snowball's puppy to show you. We named him this morning for a perfectly
splendid person that we know. You know him, too. The puppy's name is
Thomas."

"That's Mr. Gray's real name, isn't it?" put in Elizabeth anxiously.
"Every one calls him Tom, but Thomas sounds nicer. Don't you think it
does?"

"We like Mr. Gray better than any grown-up man we know," confided Anna
May enthusiastically. "He's the handsomest, nicest person ever was. Do
you think he'd be pleased to have us name our puppy for him?"

"I'm sure he would." Grace stifled her desire to laugh as she took the
fluffy white ball in her arms and stroked the tiny head. Then the amused
look left her eyes. Perhaps Tom would never know of his little white
namesake. He might never come back from South America. Suppose she were
never to hear of him again. In the past she had, during moments of
vexation toward him, almost wished it, but of a sudden it dawned upon
her that she would give much to look into his honest gray eyes again and
feel the clasp of his strong, friendly hand.

"Miss Harlowe, shall we sing for you?" Anna May wisely noted that Miss
Harlowe had begun to look "sad" again.

"We learned such a pretty new song in school," put in Elizabeth. "Anna
May can play it on the piano, too. Would you like us to sing it, Miss
Harlowe?"

"Yes, do sing it," urged Grace, but her thoughts were far from her
obliging visitors.

The children trotted over to the piano, and after a false start or two,
Anna May played the opening bars of the song. Then the two childish
voices rang out: