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HOME AXD FLOWEBS 



She's dead — died more'n a montli ago. 

 It's from one of her neighbors^ 'n' she says 

 Liieindy left a little girl, ten year old, 

 an' she's to be sent on to me. Says Ln- 

 cindy said she hadn't any folks that could 

 take her, so she'd turn her over to her 

 father's folks. Sich impidence ! It's jest 

 like the Grahamses ! I declare, I've a 

 good mind to pack her right off to Lti- 

 cindy's folks, 'n' tell 'em to look ont for 

 their own relation." 



''But she's your relation, too," said 

 Uncle Si. '^I sh'd think you'd like a nice 

 little girl to keep you conip'ny. 'Twould 

 keep you from gittin' lonesome, an" b'- 

 sides, she'd be a good deal o' help to you, 

 seems to me." 



"I don't have no time to get lonesome 

 in," said Miss Betty. "An' as fer bein' a 

 help, that's all you know about it. That's 

 jest like a man I I'd like to see the young 

 one that wa'n't more l^other than anything 

 else. I declare ! it makes me feel real 

 mad to think o' Lucindy's sendin' her to 

 me 'thout 's much 's a skin' what I thought 

 about it." 



•'Wall, she's comin', it seems," said 

 Uncle Si, " 'n' I don't see but you'll have 

 to make the best of it. I wouldn't wonder, 

 now, that when you git us't to havin' her 

 round, you'll be real glad she come. I 

 wouldn't fret about it aforehand, any- 

 way." 



"Oh, you wouldn't fret about an3i:hing," 

 said Miss Betty, sarcastically, "Ketch a 

 Slocum doin' that ! But I ain't a Slocum, 

 's it happens." 



"But you're a Peabody," responded 

 Uncle Si, not resenting in the least . Miss 

 Betty's fling at the easy-going ways of 

 the Slocums, " V the little girl's a Pea- 

 body, V you can't shet your door against 

 your own flesh 'n' blood." 



Miss Betty made no reply to this re- 

 mark. There was too much truth in what 

 he said for her to feel like attempting 

 to argue the matter. So she turned her 

 back on him and walked stiffly up the side 

 path to the house. 



"She's madder'n a wet hen," chuckled 



Uncle Si, as he gathered up the reins, pre- 

 paratory to proceeding on his j ourney. "I 

 don't care if she is. The idee of a woman 

 as forehanded as BetscA' Peabodv beofrudo:- 

 in' a home to the child of the only brother 

 she ever had I G'long, Christopher I" 



"\ATiile Christopher trudged slowly up 

 the hill road. Miss Betty sat in the kitchen 

 reading her letter more carefully. 



It was from a neighbor who had cared 

 for her sister-in-law during her last ill- 

 ness. She had been in poor health for 

 some time, but had been able to earn a 

 living for herself and child up to the week 

 of her death. Xo one had thought her 

 dangerously sick, therefore none of her 

 relatives had been notified. But on the 

 day before her death the doctor had seen 

 that the end was near, and had advised her 

 to do. whatever needed doing at once. Act- 

 ing on this advice she had instructed the 

 writer of the letter to communicate with 

 her husband's sister regarding the future 

 of her child. "There's no one else to send 

 her to," she said. "My folks couldn't 

 take good care of her — they're too poor, 

 and have too many little mouths to fill. 

 My brother's sister will give her a home. 

 I know, -for her father's sake." And then 

 followed an appeal from the dying woman 

 to Miss Betty for the child she was going 

 away from so soon^ — an appeal that would 

 have touched most hearts deeply. But 

 anger seemed to have closed every entrance 

 to the heart of the woman appealed to. 



The letter had been written about two 

 weeks after the mother's death, and the 

 writer ended it by saying that a neighbor 

 was going east in a few days, and as he 

 would go within a short distance of Ho- 

 bart's Corners, the child would be sent 

 with him. 



"Then I can look for her any day, I 

 s'pose," said Miss Betty. "'Well, I c'n 

 tell her one thing — ef I've got to be 

 bothered with her. she'll have to stan' 

 'round! That's all there is aljout that! 

 I s'pose I'll have to take her. bein's slie's 

 Jim's girl. If I didn't there'd be the 

 awfullest howl about it, though I don't 



