“Such a name for a kid!” sniffed Benedicta. “Rosalind?” “M-m. I s’pose it’s well enough if you like such a hifaluting. It’s her grandmother’s doin’s--she’s the queerest! Why, Miss Polly, she’s a regular heathen!” “Heathen! What do you mean?” “Just what I say! Democrats all are!” “Benedicta!” laughed Polly. “I never knew a Democrat that was a heathen.” “Well, I have! I don’t see how anybody can be a Christian and be a Democrat.” “I know a good many nice Democrats,” smiled Polly. “May be ‘nice Democrats,’” scorned the woman, “but I guess ther’ ain’t anything else nice about ’em!” “Oh, yes!--” “See here, Miss Polly Dudley!”--Benedicta’s eyes gleamed excitedly--“be you a Democrat?” “No,” Polly laughed, “my people have always been Republicans; but--” “Well, I’m thankful for that!” Benedicta breathed a big sigh of relief. “For a minute I was scared--clean scared!” “I never stop to ask what party claims my friends,” returned Polly, “although I will acknowledge that I am rather pleased when I discover that we are of the same political belief.” “You ought to be!” replied the housekeeper with emphasis. “I don’t have any use for a Republican that gallivants round with Democrats--much less marries ’em!” Polly marveled, musing over the situation. On what was Benedicta’s antagonism founded? The housekeeper went on, mixing her pronouns. “’Tain’t the only thing she’s done, by a long-short; I could tell you plenty. But she won’t ever walk--they might know that. Ser--her grandfather does know it, but Oscarlucy--silliest name!--is as crazy as--her grandmother. Why, the kid never ’s walked a step! Of course, it stands to reason that her legs are all out o’ kilter. They’ve spent lots o’ money on her;--but I s’pose she went through with all that.” “She told me they had consulted seven physicians. It looks to me as if the case was beyond medical skill; yet, my father has done unbelievable things along that line.” “He’ll never cure Rosalind Ferne!--Did you ever hear such a melligenous name? If it was mine, I’d apply to the courts and have it changed.” “I never heard ‘Ferne’ before,” said Polly. “Why, she’s had rickets!” continued Benedicta. “They say it was the milk; but I don’ know. Why didn’t they find out. If I’d been there, I’ll bet I’d ’a’ known before night what the reason was that baby kept growin’ thin! Huh, such a grandmother!” “You don’t seem to like her,” remarked Polly. “Like her!” was the vindictive retort. Benedicta said no more, and the two soon returned to the house. For three days nothing was heard from Oscarlucy Ferne. Then Grocer Jack brought up to Polly a tiny note torn from a bit of brown paper. It read, “I am coming this afternoon at two o’clock.”