oked up and greeted the visitor politely,
but it seemed as if a dark cloud had entered the room. Miss Polly seated
herself in a rocking-chair, and began to take off her bonnet, sighing as
she untied the strings, and sighing again as she took the three pins out
of her shawl.

"I hope you are well this fine weather," said Mrs. Parlin, cheerily.

"As well as ever I expect to be," replied Miss Polly, in a resigned
tone.

Then she opened the lids of her basket with a dismal creak, and took out
her knitting, which was as gray as a November sky. Afterwards she slowly
pinned a corn-cob to the right side of her belt, and began to knit. At
the end of every needle she drew a deep breath, and felt the stocking
carefully to make sure there were no "nubs" in it. She talked about the
"severe drowth" and some painful cases of sickness, after which she took
out her snuff-box, and then the three ladies saw that she had something
particular to say.

"Where is your little boy, Maria?"

She always called Mrs. Clifford Maria, for she had known her from a
baby.

"Horace is at Augusta; I left him there the other day."

"Yes," said Polly, settling her mournful black cap, "so I heard! I was
very, very sorry," and she shook her head dolefully, as if it had been a
bell and she were tolling it--"very, very sorry!"

Mrs. Clifford could not but wonder why.

"It is a dreadful thing to happen in a family! I'm sure, Maria, I never
heard that stealing was natural to either side of the house!"

"Stealing!" echoed Mrs. Clifford.

"What in this world can you mean, Polly Whiting?" said Aunt Louise,
laughing nervously; for she was a very lively young lady, and laughed a
great deal. Miss Whiting thought this was no time for jokes. Her mouth
twitched downward as if there were strings at the corners. Mrs. Clifford
had turned very pale.

"Poll," said she, "do speak, and tell me what you have heard? It is all
a mystery to me."

"You don't say so," said Miss Whiting, looking relieved. "Well, I didn't
more than half believe it myself; but the story is going that your
Horace stole his Aunt Louise's breastpin, and sold it to a peddler for a
rusty gun."

Miss Louise laughed merrily this time.

"I did lose my pearl brooch," said she, "but Prudy found it yesterday in
an old glass candlestick."

"What an absurd report!" said Mrs. Clifford, quite annoyed. "I hope the
children are not to be suspected every time their _Aunt Louise_ misses
anything!"