ss-examination. With a
great effort and a small gulp, she got the better of it, and answered:

"Papa, Papa fetched me--from Miss Simmons--from Sacramento, last week."

"Last week! You said three days just now," returned Mrs. Tretherick with
severe deliberation.

"I mean a monf," said Carry, now utterly adrift in sheer helplessness
and confusion.

"Do you know what you are talking about?" demanded Mrs. Tretherick
shrilly, restraining an impulse to shake the little figure before her
and precipitate the truth by specific gravity.

But the flaming red head here suddenly disappeared in the folds of Mrs.
Tretherick's dress, as if it were trying to extinguish itself forever.

"There now--stop that sniffling," said Mrs. Tretherick, extricating
her dress from the moist embraces of the child and feeling exceedingly
uncomfortable. "Wipe your face now, and run away, and don't bother.
Stop," she continued, as Carry moved away. "Where's your papa?"

"He's dorn away too. He's sick. He's been dorn"--she hesitated--"two,
free, days."

"Who takes care of you, child?" said Mrs. Tretherick, eying her
curiously.

"John, the Chinaman. I tresses myselth. John tooks and makes the beds."

"Well, now, run away and behave yourself, and don't bother me any more,"
said Mrs. Tretherick, remembering the object of her visit. "Stop--where
are you going?" she added as the child began to ascend the stairs,
dragging the long doll after her by one helpless leg.

"Doin' upstairs to play and be dood, and no bother Mamma."

"I ain't your mamma," shouted Mrs. Tretherick, and then she swiftly
re-entered her bedroom and slammed the door.

Once inside, she drew forth a large trunk from the closet and set to
work with querulous and fretful haste to pack her wardrobe. She tore her
best dress in taking it from the hook on which it hung: she scratched
her soft hands twice with an ambushed pin. All the while, she kept up an
indignant commentary on the events of the past few moments. She said to
herself she saw it all. Tretherick had sent for this child of his first
wife--this child of whose existence he had never seemed to care--just
to insult her, to fill her place. Doubtless the first wife herself would
follow soon, or perhaps there would be a third. Red hair, not auburn,
but RED--of course the child, this Caroline, looked like its mother,
and, if so, she was anything but pretty. Or the whole thing had been
prepared: this red-haired child, the image o