“I’ll love them, Granny.” Katherine kissed her grandmother again. Then she rose and slipped her arm through Abbie’s. “Now, Granny, I want you to come in and see the spoils of war.”

Out in the upper hall, with Persian rugs hanging over the mahogany-railed balcony, most of the relatives seemed gathering. Margaret and Dr. Baker had just driven in. Isabelle and Harrison Rhodes had arrived the previous evening. Stanley’s and young Dr. Fred’s wives were both there with their children. One room had been converted into a receiving room for the gifts, and it was into this one that the whole clan gathered. Dainty gifts from exclusive shops were there. Many countries had contributed their loveliest to Katherine Deal. Abbie, wandering among the tables, made little clucking noises of delight. “My, my, Kathie, whatever can you do with them all? How beautiful! And to think that I was happy to get some quilts and plain dishes and an old rooster and six hens!”

Mack came in and wandered aimlessly about. Every one was there in the room, now,—Mack and Emma, Isabelle and Harrison, Margaret and Doctor Baker, Grace, John and Eloise, Laura, Wentworth, Stanley’s and Fred Jr.’s wives, Katherine and Jimmie Buchanan——Suddenly it seemed to Abbie that there was some concerted plan that they should all gather. Two or three were whispering mysteriously.

“Are you ready, Daddy?” It was Katherine. “There’s something else we want to show you, Granny. We’re too anxious for you to see.”

Abbie turned toward Katherine who was holding the cord of a silken drape in her hand. Katherine’s head was thrown back. Her eyes were merry. She was excited about something. “All set. Eyes front and guide right, Granny.”

She pulled the silken cord and the drape parted. Behind the soft folds there hung a huge painting in a wide dull gold frame,—the painting of a lovely lady in velvet draperies, her reddish-brown hair curling over her shoulder, and a string of pearls at her neck. A hat with a sweeping plume was in one hand,—held by long slender fingers that tapered at the ends.

Katherine waved an airy hand. “Here she is, Granny. Allow me to introduce to you Isabelle Anders-Mackenzie, painted with my pearls on her . . . the little wretch.”

Abbie Deal stared. The faint coloring of excitement under her old cheeks slipped away. One hand went up to her wrinkled throat and the other above her pounding heart. She turned to Mack. “You don’t . . . not really, Mack? It isn’t . . .?”

“Yes, it is, Mother . . . your grandmother . . . my great-grandmother . . . Kathie’s great-great-grandmother. It’s the original and it cost like the old Harry, but Katherine has been after me ever since she heard you tell about it. I had the deuce of a time getting it, too. The agent traced it from Aberdeen to London and then to Edinburgh and back to London.”

Abbie turned to the picture again.