“It was an apartment,” explained Carolyn May. “Yep. Well, Mr. Stagg ain’t never done nothin’ about it. He ain’t sold it, nor sold the furniture, nor nothin’. You know, Car’lyn May, your folks didn’t leave you no money.” “Oh! Didn’t they?” cried Carolyn May, greatly startled. “No. You see, I heard all about it. Mr. Vickers, the lawyer, came in here one day, and your uncle read a letter to him out loud. I couldn’t help but hear. The letter was from another lawyer and ’twas all about you and your concerns. I heard it all,” said the quite innocent Chet. He had never been taught that it was wrong to listen to other people’s private matters and to repeat them. Carolyn May’s lips expressed a round “O” of wonder and surprise. Like his mother, Chet Gormley did not have to be urged when he was telling a bit of news. He was too deeply interested in it himself. “And Mr. Vickers says: ‘So the child hasn’t anything of her own, Joe?’” Chet went on. “And your uncle says: ‘Not a dollar, ’cept what I might sell that furniture for,’ And he hasn’t sold it yet, I know. He just can’t make up his mind to do it, it seems. “My maw says Mr. Stagg always was that way—that he hates to let go of anything he once gets in his hands. But it ain’t that, I tell her,” declared Chet. “It’s just that he can’t make up his mind to sell them things that was your mother’s, Car’lyn May,” added the boy, with a deeper insight into Mr. Stagg’s character than one might have given him credit for possessing. But Carolyn May had heard some news that impressed her more deeply than this idiosyncrasy of Joseph Stagg’s. It made her suddenly quiet, and she was glad a customer came into the store just then to draw Chet Gormley’s attention. The child had never thought before about how the good things of life came to her—her food, clothes, and lodging. She had never heard much talk of ways and means at home between her father and mother. When she had come to her uncle, if she had thought about it at all, she had supposed her parents had left ample means for her support, even if Uncle Joe did “take her home and look out for her,” as she had suggested to him at their first interview. But, now, Chet Gormley’s chattering had given her a new view of the facts of the case. There had been no money left to spend for her needs. Uncle Joe was just keeping her out of charity! “And Prince, too,” thought the little girl, with a lump in her throat. “_He_ hasn’t got any more home than a rabbit! And Uncle Joe don’t really like dogs—not even now. “Oh, dear me!” pursued Carolyn May. “It’s awful hard to be an orphan. But to be a _poor_ orphan—just a charity one—is a whole lot worse, I guess.