y on the latch, pushed the gate ajar, and
then hesitated.

"No, I promised the doctah I'd stay," she thought. "He said I could help
mothah and Papa Jack, both of 'em, by stayin' heah, an' I'll do it."

Fritz, who had pushed himself through the partly opened gate to rustle
around among the dead leaves outside, came bounding back with something
in his mouth.

"Heah, suh!" she called. "Give it to me!" He dropped a small gray kid
glove in her outstretched hand. "Oh, it's mothah's!" she cried. "I
reckon she dropped it when she was tellin' me good-bye. Oh, you deah old
dog fo' findin' it."

She laid the glove against her cheek as fondly as if it had been her
mother's soft hand. There was something wonderfully comforting in the
touch.

As they walked slowly back toward the house she rolled it up and put it
lovingly away in her tiny apron pocket.

All that week it was a talisman whose touch helped the homesick little
soul to be brave and womanly.

When Maria, the coloured housekeeper, went into the hall to light the
lamps, the Little Colonel was sitting on the big fur rug in front of the
fire, talking contentedly to Fritz, who lay with his curly head in her
lap.

"You all's goin' to have tea in the Cun'ls room to-night," said Maria.
"He tole me to tote it up soon as he rung the bell."

"There it goes now," cried the child, jumping up from the rug.

She followed Maria up the wide stairs. The Colonel was sitting in a
large easy chair, wrapped in a gaily flowered dressing-gown, that made
his hair look unusually white by contrast.

His dark eyes were intently watching the door. As it opened to let the
Little Colonel pass through, a very tender smile lighted up his stern
face.

"So you did come to see grandpa after all," he cried, triumphantly.
"Come here and give me a kiss. Seems to me you've been staying away a
mighty long time."

As she stood beside him with his arm around her, Walker came in with a
tray full of dishes. "We're going to have a regular little tea-party,"
said the Colonel.

Lloyd watched with sparkling eyes as Walker set out the rare
old-fashioned dishes. There was a fat little silver sugar-bowl with a
butterfly perched on each side to form the handles, and there was a
slim, graceful cream-pitcher shaped like a lily.

"They belonged to your great-great-grandmother," said the Colonel, "and
they're going to be yours some day if you grow up and have a house of
your own."

The expression on her be