If Aunty Rose noticed the child’s emotion, she made no comment, only helped her gravely to cold meat, stewed potatoes, and hot biscuit. Mr. Stagg was in haste to eat and get back to the store. “Or that Chet Gormley will try to make a meal off some of the hardware, I guess,” he said gloomily. “Oh, dear me, Uncle Joe” exclaimed Carolyn May. “If he did that, he’d die of indignation.” “Huh? Oh! I guess ’twould cause indigestion,” agreed her uncle. Aunty Rose did not even smile. She sat so very stiff and upright in her chair that her back never touched the back of the chair; she was very precise and exact in all her movements. “Bless me!” Mr. Stagg exclaimed suddenly. “What’s that on the mantel, Aunty Rose? That yaller letter?” “A telegram for you, Joseph Stagg,” replied the old lady as composedly as though the receipt of a telegram was an hourly occurrence at The Corners. “Well!” muttered the hardware dealer, and Carolyn May wondered if he were not afraid to express just the emotion he felt at that instant. His face was red, and he got up clumsily to secure the sealed message. “Who brought it, and when?” he asked finally, having read the lawyer’s night letter. “A boy. This morning,” said Aunty Rose, utterly calm. “And I never saw it this noon,” grumbled the hardware dealer. Mrs. Kennedy quite ignored any suggestion of impatience in Mr. Stagg’s voice or manner. But he seemed to lose taste for his supper after reading the telegram. “Where is the letter that this Mr. Price wrote and sent by you, Car’lyn?” he asked as he was about to depart for the store. The little girl asked permission to leave the table, and then ran to open her bag. Mr. Stagg said doubtfully: “I s’pose you’ll have to put her somewhere—for the present. Don’t see what else we can do, Aunty Rose.” “You may be sure, Joseph Stagg, that her room was ready for her a week ago,” Mrs. Kennedy rejoined, quite unruffled. The surprised hardware dealer gurgled something in his throat. “What room?” he finally stammered. “That which was her mother’s. Hannah Stagg’s room. It is next to mine, and she will come to no harm there.” “Hannah’s!” exclaimed Mr. Stagg. “Why, that ain’t been slept in since she went away.” “It is quite fit, then,” said Aunty Rose, “that it should be used for her child. Trouble nothing about things that do not concern you, Joseph Stagg,” she added with, perhaps, additional sternness. Carolyn May did not hear this. She now produced the letter from her lawyer neighbour. “There it is, Uncle Joe,” she said. “I—I guess he tells you all about me in it.” “Hum!” said the hardware man, clearing his throat and picking up his hat. “I’ll read it down at the store.” “Shall—shall I see you again to-night, Uncle Joe?” the little girl asked wistfully. “You know, my bedtime’s half-past eight.” “Well, if you don’t see me to-night again, you’ll be well cared for, I haven’t a doubt,” said Uncle Joe shortly, and went out.