A week later Charlotte received a wire from her mistress, instructing her to send Buck with the car to Atlanta in time to meet a certain train at the Terminal Station on a certain day. This message was sent from Baltimore, which had not been Mrs. Cutter’s destination when she left home, Charlotte observed with a sniff. She did not like Mrs. Cutter’s ways, referring to this tendency she had of flying about the world alone when she had a perfectly good maid, who had expected to accompany her. And she did not like the company she kept, referring to Shippen who was the only visitor she had received. And what was more to the point, she had no idea of being buried alive in this little speck of a town. Therefore she meant to go back to Atlanta in the car, and stay there--strong emphasis on the last two words. It was known in Shannon that “Helen Cutter had gone again.” But as late as the third week in April, no one knew that she had returned. There was a rumor current that probably she would not come back, since she must have realized that everybody knew what had happened. Then Mrs. Flitch, who was out selling Liberty Bonds one afternoon, passed the Cutter place and beheld a baby carriage on the lawn! Not only that, but the carriage was obviously occupied, because Maria, togged out in a nurse’s cap and apron, was rolling it back and forth along the driveway. Mrs. Flitch said later that you could have “knocked her down with a feather,” but she decided no matter what kind of woman Helen Cutter was, it was no more than right that she should be called upon to buy these bonds. Therefore she turned in and walked briskly up the drive, meeting Maria directly front of the house. “Is Mrs. Cutter at home?” she asked, ignoring the old woman’s occupation. “No’m, she ain’t here; she’s gone to git a goat,” Maria answered. “A goat!” “Yes’m, a milk goat for the baby,” rolling her eyes. Mrs. Flitch stood perfectly still, the incarnation of malignant virtue, allowing her eyes to pass back and forth between Maria and the carriage. The wicker hood concealed the contents from her avid gaze. When she could endure her curiosity no longer, she moved slowly around to the front, but maintaining a decent distance, and stared. The baby recognized her at once, grinned, showing several teeth, and waved a highly ornamental teething ring. “Maria, whose child is this?” Mrs. Flitch demanded sternly, as if it was her duty to know. “Miss Helen says it’s her’n,” was the noncommittal reply. Followed a series of questions as to the age and possible complexion of this child. One confidence led to another question until Maria let go and told all that she knew, which only increased the cloud hanging over the origin of this baby. She said that she had gone in to clear the table that night in August of last year when Mr. Cutter left his wife. She had heard him tell her that he was going to leave her. “What did Mrs. Cutter say to that?”