"I know people say so, but I don't believe it," said Aunt Hannah. "I believe, when any person habitually tries to be governed by a sense of duty, the first thought is almost always the right thought. But there is no use in talking to me on this matter. I can't consider you at all. I shall go to town to-morrow morning, and if possible bring Rhoda home with me. You have done what you saw fit, and you must take the consequences. They are nothing to me. I can only pray that you may be brought to a better mind, and that the sins of the parents may not be visited on the children." When Aunt Hannah went home, she found that Keziah had lighted her fire and got her tea all ready. "I thought you'd be kind of tired and done over, and wouldn't feel like getting supper," said Kissy, who was aching with curiosity to learn the result of the interview, though she had too much delicacy to ask any questions. "I guess I'll go along now, for 'Duthun will want his supper; but if you don't mind, I'll just run round again before bedtime—say about nine o'clock—and see how you are. You might be took faint again." "Do," said Miss Hannah; "and, Kissy, bring Jeduthun with you. I want to see him." When she was left alone, even before she drank her tea, Aunt Hannah went to her desk and took out a paper. She sat down and wrote about half a page, apparently referring to the other as she did so. Then she tore up the first and burned the pieces; and leaving the other on the desk, she sat down to her tea. As Keziah and her husband were finishing their supper, which was rather later than usual, there was a knock at the door, which was opened before Jeduthun could reach it by Mr. Bowers. "For mercy's sake, Kissy, come to my aunt!" he exclaimed. "And, Jeduthun, you run for the doctor. I'm afraid Aunt Hannah is dead." "Is any one there?" asked Kissy as they hurried toward the house. "Only Uncle Jacob. We went over together, and found her sitting by her desk leaning back in her chair. She was at our house not two hours ago." "I know," said Kissy. "She wasn't well, though. It shook her dreadfully when she got that letter. I thought she would faint away then. It's gone to her heart, I expect." Aunt Hannah was indeed gone to her long home. She had died sitting in her chair, apparently without pain. Uncle Jacob at once took possession of the house and gave all the orders about the funeral on a liberal scale. "She sha'n't say that I didn't do what was right by her," he muttered to himself. "The will wasn't signed, so it wasn't worth anything in law, and I don't believe she was in her right mind. I'll send all her clothes to that girl, and that's more than she had any right to in law; but I will do it. Yes, she shall have the clothes." "After all, I don't know that I am sorry," said Mrs. Bowers to her husband. "Aunt Hannah was an old woman, any way, and it would have been very awkward to have Rhoda back here. I wonder how she has left her property?"