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 continue her talk without being overheard. But all she said now was, "He's an officer just returned from France."

"Oh; friend of yours!" her grandfather's voice charged. "Why didn't you say in your wire yesterday you were bringing him?"

"I wasn't. I just met him on the train this morning, grandfather. I'm not bringing him there now. We just came this far together, that's all. He's on his way to Resurrection Rock."

"Where?"

"To the Rock, grandfather."

There was delay now at the other end of the wire; and Ethel, as she waited, could hear the mumble—but not the words—of the old man talking to himself. The undertone brought to her another image of him; she knew how he looked and when it was that he thus muttered to himself. It was when something suddenly disturbed him or when he had been under a strain for some time but was required to make a decision; he would try over phrases to himself before speaking aloud. That was what he was doing at this moment,—trying over a sentence which he discarded and now trying another.

"No one goes to the Rock, Ethel," he said at last aloud. "If he doesn't know that, surely you must have told him. Bring him here with you, my dear. I would like to see him. Bring him here with you; do you understand?"

"I understand, grandfather," Ethel said.

"Bring him here with you," the old man ordered again; and Ethel heard him hang up the receiver. Then the bell rang once, curtly. It was the rural line custom of "ringing off" after ending a conver-