“What is there about the Vanderhovens?” inquired Grace that night as they sat by the blaze of hickory logs in the cheery parlor of Wishing-Brae.

“The Vanderhovens are a decayed family,” her father answered.  “They were once very well off and lived in state, and from far and near gay parties were drawn at Easter and Christmas to dance under their roof.  Now they are run out.  This boy and his mother are the last of the line.  Archie’s father was drowned in the ford when we had the freshet last spring.  The Ramapo, that looks so peaceful now, overflowed its banks then, and ran like a mill-race.  I don’t know how they manage, but Archie is kept at school, and his mother does everything from ironing white frocks for summer boarders to making jellies and preserves for people in town, who send her orders.”

“Is she an educated woman?” inquired Grace.

“That she is.  Mrs. Vanderhoven is not only highly educated, but very elegant and accomplished.  None of her attainments, except those in the domestic line, are available, unhappily, when earning a living is in question, and she can win her bread only by these housekeeping efforts.”

“Might I go and see her?”

“Why yes, dear, you and the others not only might, but should.  She will need help.  I’ll call and consult Mrs. Raeburn about her to-morrow.  She isn’t a woman one can treat like a pauper—­as well born as any one in the land, and prouder than Lucifer.  It’s too bad Archie had to meet with this accident; but boys are fragile creatures.”

And the doctor, shaking the ashes from his pipe, went off to sit with his wife before going to bed.

“I do wonder,” said Grace to Eva, “what the boy was doing with the old Puritan pitcher, and why a Vanderhoven should have boasted of coming over in the Mayflower?”

Eva said:  “They’re Dutch and English, Grace.  The Vanderhovens are from Holland, but Archie’s mother was a Standish, or something of that sort, and her kinsfolk, of course, belonged to the Mayflower crowd.  I believe Archie meant to sell that pitcher, and if so, no wonder he broke his leg.  By-the-way, what became of the pieces?”

“I picked them up,” said Grace.

CHAPTER V.

CEMENTS AND RIVETS.

“How did we ever consent to let our middle daughter stay away all these years, mother?” said Dr. Wainwright, addressing his wife.

“I cannot tell how it happened, father,” she said, musingly.  “I think we drifted into the arrangement, and you know each year brother was expected to bring her back Harriet would plan a jaunt or a journey which kept her away, and then, Jack, we’ve generally been rather out at the elbows, and I have been so helpless, that, with our large family, it was for Grace’s good to let her remain where she was so well provided for.”

“She’s clear grit, isn’t she?” said the doctor, admiringly, stalking to and fro in his wife’s chamber.  “I didn’t half like the notion of her giving readings; but Charley Raeburn says the world moves and we must move with it, and now that her object is not purely a selfish one, I withdraw my opposition.  I confess, though, darling, I don’t enjoy the thought that my girls must earn money.  I feel differently about the boys.”