aining to them. When her
husband first wrote, to her that his father was dead and that he had
promised to take charge of his mother and 'Lena, she new into a violent
rage, which was increased ten-fold when she received his second letter,
wherein he announced his intention of bringing them home in spite of
her. Bursting into tears she declared "she'd leave the house before
she'd have it filled up with a lot of paupers. Who did John Nichols
think he was, and who did he think she was! Besides that, where was he
going to put them? for there wasn't a place for them that she knew of!"

"Why, mother," said Anna who was pleased with the prospect of a new
grandmother and cousin, "Why, mother, what a story. There's the two
big chambers and bedrooms, besides the one next to Carrie's and mine.
Oh, do put them in there. It'll be so nice to have grandma and cousin
'Lena so near me."

"Anna Livingstone!" returned the indignant lady, "Never let me hear you
say grandma and cousin again."

"But they be grandma and cousin," persisted Anna, while her mother
commenced lamenting the circumstance which had made them so, wishing,
as she had often done before, that she had never married John Nichols.

"I reckon you are not the only one that wishes so," slyly whispered
John Jr., who was a witness to her emotion.

Anna was naturally of an inquiring mind, and her mother's last remark
awoke within her a new and strange train of thought, causing her to
wonder whose little girl she would have been, her father's or mother's,
in case they had each married some one else! As there was no one whose
opinion Anna dared to ask, the question is undoubtedly to this day,
with her, unsolved.

The next morning when Mrs. Livingstone arose, her anger of the day
before was somewhat abated, and knowing from past experience that it
was useless to resist her husband when once he was determined, she
wisely concluded that as they were now probably on the road, it was
best to try to endure, for a time, at least, what could not well be
helped. And now arose the perplexing question, "What should she do
with them? where should she put them that they would be the most out of
the way? for she could never suffer them to be round when she had
company." The chamber of which Anna had spoken was out of the
question, for it was too nice, and besides that, it was reserved for
the children of her New Orleans friends, who nearly every summer came
up to visit her.

At