When Mr. Carnegie's pipe was out the sunset was past and the evening
dews were falling. Nine had struck by the kitchen clock, supper was on
the table, and the lamp was shedding its light through the open window.

"Come in, mother, come in, Bessie," said the doctor. "And, Bessie, let
us hear over again what was your adventure this afternoon?"

Bessie sat down before her cup of new milk and slice of brown bread, and
told her simple tale a second time. It had been rather pooh-poohed the
first, but it had made an impression. Said Mr. Carnegie: "And you jumped
to the conclusion that this gentleman unknown was your grandfather, even
before he asked your name? Now to describe him."

"He came from Hampton, because he rode Jefferson's old gray mare, and
the other rode the brown horse with white socks. He is a little like
Admiral Parkins--neither fat nor thin. He has white hair and a red and
brown color. He looks stern and as proud as Lucifer" (Mrs. Carnegie gave
Bessie a reproving glance), "and his voice sounds as if he were. Perhaps
he _could_ be kind--"

"You don't flatter him in his portrait, Bessie. Apparently you did not
take to him?"

"Not at all. I don't believe we shall ever be friends."

"Bessie dear, you must not set your mind against Mr. Fairfax,"
interposed her mother. "Don't encourage her in her nonsense and
prejudice, Thomas; they'll only go against her."