is faultfindings with her mother's many
little blunders--no wonder, when he came from this place.

The butler tapped on a door at the head of the stairs, and a maid swung it
open.

"Why, you're not the girl Mrs. Sands sent the other day," said a querulous
voice from a mass of lace-ruffled pillows on the great bed.

"I am Elizabeth," said the girl, as if that were full explanation.

"Elizabeth? Elizabeth who? I don't see why she sent another girl. Are you
sure you will understand the directions? They're very particular, for I
want my frock ready for to-night without fail." The woman sat up, leaning
on one elbow. Her lace nightgown and pale-blue silk dressing-sack fell
away from a round white arm that did not look as if it belonged to a very
old lady. Her gray hair was becomingly arranged, and she was extremely
pretty, with small features. Elizabeth looked and marvelled. Like a flash
came the vision of the other grandmother at the wash-tub. The contrast was
startling.

"I am Elizabeth Bailey," said the girl quietly, as if she would break a
piece of hard news gently. "My father was your son John."

"The idea!" said the new grandmother, and promptly fell back upon her
pillows with her hand upon her heart. "John, John, my little John. No one
has mentioned his name to me for years and years. He never writes to me."
She put up a lace-trimmed handkerchief, and sobbed.

"Father died five years ago," said Elizabeth.

"You wicked girl!" said the maid. "Can't you see that Madam can't bear
such talk? Go right out of the room!" The maid rushed up with
smelling-salts and a glass of water, and Elizabeth in distress came and
stood by the bed.

"I'm sorry I made you feel bad, grandmother," she said when she saw that
the fragile, childish creature on the bed was recovering somewhat.

"What right have you to call me that? Grandmother, indeed! I'm not so old
as that. Besides, how do I know you belong to me? If John is dead, your
mother better look after you. I'm sure I'm not responsible for you. It's
her business. She wheedled John away from his home, and carried him off to
that awful West, and never let him write to me. She has done it all, and
now she may bear the consequences. I suppose she has sent you here to beg,
but she has made a mistake. I shall not have a thing to do with her of her
children."

"Grandmother!" Elizabeth's eyes flashed as they had done to the other
grandmother a few hours before. "You must not talk so. I