r chair and looked desperately for a sign
of life in the stony countenance before her.

"Well?" responded the judge, after a pause.

"Well, what?" she retorted, in a tense voice. "I've no doubt she's as
slipshod--as easy-going, I should say, as her father. The idea of her
not waiting for advice from her relatives before she took such a step
and came to a strange land uninvited; but she's our flesh and blood,
Calvin, and she's in her teens yet. What are you going to do about it?"

Judge Trent was humped over more defensively than ever. Miss Lacey's
nervous tension could not endure the prolonging of the silence with
which he met the question.

"No doubt it comes suddenly on you, Calvin. Still, you say you heard of
Sam's death. Did Sylvia write you?"

"Yes."

"Did she tell you she was coming to Boston?"

"Yes."

"Have you got an idea in this world, Calvin Trent, what she's going to
do?"

"No, have you?"

It was something to have won a question from him. Miss Martha stirred
in her chair.

"No, I haven't. It is easy to see how her friends thought it would be
cheapest to pay her fare here and get her off their hands. Now I
thought I'd go to Boston Wednesday morning instead of sending for her
to come here, for if she once gets in here it'll be every one's
business to nose into our affairs and have something to say." Miss
Lacey paused a moment and then added boldly: "And I thought if you
would go with me, we could find out just what she has to live on, if
anything, and whether she has any plans."

The humped-over figure continued to gaze silently into space.

"It would be hypocrisy for me to say I have any affection for an
absolute stranger just because she happens to be the child of a brother
who never was any comfort to me in this world. With you it may be
different," continued Miss Lacey, with what she intended to be
adroitness. "Laura was a dear little thing, and you loved her, and this
is her child."

Another pause. It was doubtful what thoughts were behind Judge Trent's
half-closed eyes.

"My affairs aren't any more brilliant and promising as the years go
by," pursued Miss Lacey. "You know as well as I do what condition I'm
in to adopt Sam's girl."

She suddenly dashed some bright drops from her lashes. Indignant tears
they were, brought there by the apparent futility of her appeals.

"By the way," said the judge slowly, "that visit of condolence I was
intending to make on you was to be one of cong