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There was a tone in her father’s voice that drew Katy’s heart toward him with new affection. She dimly understood, but Susan Ellen was less interested. They had often heard this story before, but to one child it was always new and to the other old. Susan Ellen was apt to think it tiresome to hear about her grandmother, who, being dead, was hardly worth talking about.

“There’s Judge Masterson’s place,” said their father in an everyday manner, as they turned a corner, and came into full view of the beautiful old white house standing behind its green trees and terraces and lawns. The children had never imagined anything so stately and fine, and even Susan Ellen exclaimed with pleasure. At that moment they saw an old gentleman, who carried himself with great dignity, coming slowly down the wide, box-bordered path toward the gate.

“There he is now, there’s the judge!” whispered John Hilton, excitedly, reining his horse quickly to the green roadside. “He’s goin’ downtown to his office; we can wait right here an’ see him. I can’t expect him to remember me; it’s been a good many years. Now you are goin’ to see the great Judge Masterson!”

There was a quiver of expectation in their hearts. The judge stopped at his gate, hesitating a moment before he lifted the latch, and glanced up the street at the country wagon with its two prim little girls on the back seat, and the eager man who drove. They seemed to be waiting for something; the old horse was nibbling at the fresh roadside grass. The judge was used to being looked at with interest, and responded now with a smile as he came out to the sidewalk, and unexpectedly turned their way. Then he suddenly lifted his hat with grave politeness, and came directly toward them.

“Good morning, Mr. Hilton,” he said. “I am very glad to see you, sir,” and Mr. Hilton, the little girls’ own father, took off his hat with equal courtesy, and bent forward to shake hands.

Susan Ellen cowered and wished herself away, but little Katy sat straighter than ever, with joy in her father’s pride and pleasure shining in her pale, flower-like little face.

“These are your daughters, I am sure,” said the old gentleman, kindly, taking Susan Ellen’s limp and reluctant hand; but when he looked at Katy, his face brightened. “How she recalls your mother!” he said with great feeling. “I am glad to see this dear child. You must come to see me with your father, my dear,” he added, still looking at her. “Bring both little girls, and let them run about the old garden; the cherries will soon be getting ripe,” said Judge Masterson, hospitably. “Perhaps you will have time to stop this afternoon as you go home?”

“I should call it a great pleasure if you would come and see us again some time. You may be driving our way, sir,” said John Hilton.

“Not very often in these days,” answered the old judge. “I thank you for the kind invitation. I should like to see the fine view again from your hill westward. Can I serve you in any way while you are in town? Good-bye, my little friends!”

Then they parted, but not before Katy, the shy Katy, whose hand the judge still held unconsciously while he spoke, had reached forward as he said good-bye, and lifted her face to kiss him. She could not have told why, except that she felt drawn to something in the serious, worn face. For the first time in her life the child had felt the charm of manners; perhaps she owned a kinship between that which made him what he was, and the spark of nobleness and purity in her own simple soul. She turned again and again to look back at him as they drove away.