I wondered what she meant by that, and looked my question. “Your father didn’t own a stick o’ this house,” she cried, in a tone that was almost a scream. “It’s mine, an’ the deed’s in my own name!” “I know,” I replied, “but father has often explained that you merely held the deed in trust for me, until I became of age. He turned it over to you as a protection to me in case some accident should happen to him. Many times he has told me that this plan insured my having a home, no matter what happened.” “I guess you didn’t understand him,” she answered, an evil flash in her eye. “The facts is, this house were put into my name because the Cap’n owed me money.” “What for?” I asked. “I’ve kep’ ye in food an’ clothes ever sence ye was a baby. Do ye s’pose that don’t cost money?” I stared at her bewildered. “Didn’t father furnish the money?” “Not a cent. He jest let it run on, as he did any wages. An’ it counts up big, that a-way.” “Then the house isn’t mine, after all?” “Not an inch of it. Not a stick ner a stone.” I tried to think what this would mean to me, and what reason the woman could have for claiming a right to my inheritance. “Once,” said I, musingly, “father told me how he had brought you here to save you from the poor-house, or starvation. He was sorry for you, and gave you a home. That was while mother was living. Afterwards, he said, he trusted to your gratitude to take good care of me, and to stand my friend in place of my dead mother.” “Fiddlesticks” she snapped, again. It was the word she usually used to express contempt, and it sounded very disagreeable coming from her lips. “The Cap’n must ’a’ been a-dreamin’ when he told you that stuff an’ nonsense,” she went on. “I’ve treated ye like my own son; there’s no mistake about that. But I did it for wages, accordin’ to agreement atween me an’ the Cap’n. An’ the wages wasn’t never paid. When they got to be a big lump, he put the house in my name, to secure me. An’ it’s mine—ev’ry stick of it!” My head was aching, and I had to press my hand to it to ease the pain. In the light of the one flickering candle Mrs. Ranck’s hard face assumed the expression of a triumphant demon, and I drew back from it, shocked and repelled. “If what you say is true,” I said, listlessly, “I would rather you take the old home to wipe out the debt. Yet father surely told me it was mine and it isn’t like him to deceive me, or to owe any one money. However, take it, Aunt, if you like.” “I’ve got it,” she answered; “an’ I mean to keep it.” “I shall get along very well,” said I, thinking, indeed, that nothing mattered much, now father was gone. “How will you live?” she enquired.