wife.
On the whole, I do not believe she was. He would never have left her if
she had been, and if so, this child, if she is Gretchen's, has no right
to come between me and mine. No, I shall wait a little while and think,
though in the end I mean to do right.'

With these specious arguments Frank tried to quiet his conscience, but
he could not help feeling that Satan had possession of him, and as he
hurried through the hall he said aloud, as if speaking to something
seen:

'Go away--go away! I shall do right if I only know what right is.

He did not see his brother again that day, or go to the cottage either,
but as he was dressing himself next morning he said to his wife:

'That little girl ought to see her mother before she is buried. I shall
send for her to-day. The coroner will be here, too. Did I tell you I had
a telegram last night? He is coming on the early train.'

Mrs. Tracy passed the allusion to the coroner in silence, but of the
little girl she said:

'I suppose the child must come to the funeral, but you surely do not
mean to keep her? We are not bound to do that because her mother froze
to death on our premises.'

'Would you let her go to the poor-house?' Frank asked, but Dolly did not
reply.

As the breakfast-bell just then rang, no more was said of the little
waif until the sleigh was brought to the door, and Frank announced his
intention of stopping for the child on his way back from the station,
where he was going to meet the coroner.

CHAPTER XIV.

LITTLE JERRY.

It was nearly noon when Harold left Tracy Park the previous day and
started for home, eager and anxious with regard to the child whom he
claimed as his own. He had found her. She was his and he should keep
her, he said to himself, and then he wondered how his grandmother had
managed with her, and if she had cried for him or for her mother, and as
he reached the house he stood still a moment, to listen. But the sounds
which met his ear were peals of laughter, mingled with mild, and, as it
would seem, unavailing expostulations from his grandmother.

Opening the door suddenly he found the child seated at the table in the
high chair he used to occupy, and which Mrs. Crawford had brought from
the attic, where it was stored. Standing before the child was a dish of
bread and milk, of which she had evidently eaten enough, for she was
playing with it now, and amusing herself by striking the spoon into the
milk, which was splash