To think of Colonel Halket's grandson coming here to live!"
"But," asked Floyd, with some curiosity, "what makes you think I'm his grandson?"
"Why, would n't I know the name?" cried the widow. "And all about the family? Who in New Rome would not? The idea of me asking you to sit down to the supper-table!"
"Indeed," said Miss Bell, quite haughtily, "I did n't approve of it at the time, mother; but I see nothing wrong about it now."
"I hope you'll be asking me just about every night," Floyd said gallantly. "You know I want board here as well as a room."
"And there's no joke about your coming?" cried Mrs. Bell.
"Not the least."
"Well," Mrs. Bell said, "if you can put up with it here—"
There was a sudden rattling tattoo played with stout fingers on the glass of the front door. The girl stepped forward and opened it, and with the greeting, "Hello, Let," a young man entered. As he took off his hat and showed his light straight hair and red face, Floyd recognized, in spite of the white collar and blue coat which now adorned him, the young roller in the rod-mill.
"What is it, Mrs. Bell?—your thirty-fifth?" the newcomer asked cheerfully. "Many happy returns."
While he spoke he ran his eyes over Floyd with a glance of recognition.
Floyd turned and held out his hand to Mrs. Bell. "I won't keep you any longer from lighting those candles in the dining-room," he said. "I'll send my things Saturday and come out here Sunday night to sleep, if that's convenient. Good-by."
"I suppose," interrupted Miss Bell, "you might as well meet now as later. Mr. Farrell, this is Mr. Halket.
