s
in a moment to shake the foundations of her soul.

It came with a terrible suddenness when she read Dave's large, roundhand
script. "MY DEAR GRANEY MAROBONE--Me and Dolly are so Glad because Gweng
has been here To say Mrs. Picture is reely Your Cistern." This is as
written first. Old Phoebe deciphered the corrections without
illumination; sheltered, perhaps, by some bias of her inner soul to an
idea that Mrs. Prichard was a second wife of her convict
brother-in-law--a sort of washed-out sister-in-law. The child might have
cooked it up out of that. It would explain many things.

Then came the thunderclap. "Gweng says Bad people told you bofe Lies
heaps longer ago than dolly's birfday, so you bofe thort you was dead
and buried." Straight to the heart of the subject, as perhaps none but a
child could have phrased it. Granny Marrable's sight grew dim as she
read:--"Gweng says you will be glad, not sory." Then she felt quite
sick, and heard her granddaughter coming downstairs. How to tell her
nothing of all this, how to pretend nothing was happening--that was what
had to be done! But the world vanished as she fell back in her chair
beside the cradle.

* * * * *

"Yes, Granny dear, what is it?... The letter?--oh, the doctor's got the
letter. Does it matter?... Never mind the letter! You sit still! I must
get you something. What shall I get for her, doctor?"

"Get me nothing, Maisie. I shall be all right directly...." And it
really seemed as if she would. Indeed, her revival was amazingly sudden.
"I tell you what I should _like_," said she, quite firmly. "I should
like a little air. Is not John come in?" John was Mr. Costrell, her
grandson-in-law--the farmer.

"I think I just heard him, outside." Maisie had heard him drive up to
the door, a familiar sound.

"Then let him drive me over to the Cottage."

"_Yes_," said the doctor, with emphasis. "Good idea!" And Maisie left
the room to speak to her husband.

Then old Phoebe, on her feet now, and speaking clearly, with a strange
ring of determination in her voice, said to him:--"Have you the young
child's letter?" He drew it from his pocket. "If what that letter says
is true, this is my sister Maisie, risen from the grave."

He marvelled at her strength. There was no need for reserve; he could
speak plainly now. "The letter is all true, Mrs. Marrable," said he.
"Mrs. Prichard is your sister Maisie, but she is not risen from the
grave.