"Miss Bayard?" I repeated wonderingly. It was strange Gertrude had not mentioned it. She must, I thought, have forgotten the incident. "And what," I prompted, "did Miss Bayard say?" "She said," and Alicia’s lips quivered pitifully, "’are you still here, child?’" "Yes—go on!" I could hardly trust myself to speak for the premonitory anger that was rising within me. "I told her, yes, ma’am." Alicia spoke somewhat more easily, feeling, evidently, that I was not against her. "And Miss Bayard said," she went on, "that she thought I had gone away weeks ago. I didn’t understand what she meant, and I asked her where she thought I had gone. ’Didn’t anybody from the Home come to look you up?’ she asked me. And I told her that Miss Smith had come. And she asked me whether Miss Smith hadn’t done anything about me. And I told her that Miss Smith had—that she said I could stay." "And what did she say to that?" I gasped, by this time livid with anger. "She said it was very strange—that she did not understand it. She didn’t say it to me. She seemed to be speaking to herself. And then she just gave a little nod and walked away." "Just gave a little nod and walked away," I repeated after her mechanically. "And because of that you thought I was planning to send you away?" "Yes, Mr. Byrd," she murmured with a dejection that in the young is so profoundly touching it makes one’s heart ache. "Well," and I hope my sickly laugh was as reassuring as it was meant to be, "and if I tell you that I knew nothing at all about it—will that make you feel better?" She nodded. "And if I tell you that so far from planning to send you away, I couldn’t do without you; that you are necessary in this house, that you are just the same to me as any of the other children; that I make no distinction between you; that, in short—this house is your home until—until you grow up and get married—as long as you want to be here—" and I sat on the side of the chair, drew her to me and patted her as I might have patted little Laura. "Is that all right?" "Yes, Uncle—Mr. Ranny," she whispered, her head sinking toward me like a child’s, and a sigh of deep content escaped her. "I don’t want anything else in this world!" How beautifully affection sits upon a child! "Now go to bed, Alicia," I urged her gently, "and don’t bother your innocent little head about anything of that sort. Miss Bayard was probably joking, but—she won’t do that again—when she knows how badly it made you feel." She stirred as from a trance and slowly rose. "How is the school work going?" I asked her. "All right?" "Yes, Mr. Byrd," she murmured, "except the Latin—I don’t put in enough time on it, the teacher says, especially the Latin composition." "Ah, we’ll have to remedy that. You must come and let me help you. What are you reading in Latin?" "Cæsar’s Commentaries," she smiled, shamefacedly, like a troubled child that has been restored to happiness.