e had been making
biscuits. She still looked nervous and excited.

"What is to pay now?" said she.

Henry told her in few words.

"You mean that Abrahama's niece was taken care of by Miss Farrel when
her mother died, and Miss Farrel got a place for her to live with
some New York folks, and you mean Miss Farrel was related to her
mother?" said Sylvia. She looked sharply at Henry.

"Yes," he replied, feebly. Horace stood looking out of the window.

"She wa'n't," said Sylvia.

"Now, Sylvia."

"If that poor woman that's gone wanted the girl to think she was her
relation enough to lie about it I sha'n't tell her, you can depend on
that; but it's a lie," said Sylvia. "Miss Farrel wa'n't no relation
at all to Susy White. She couldn't have been unless she was related
to me, too, on my mother's side, and she wa'n't. I know all about my
mother's family. But I sha'n't tell her. I'm glad Miss Farrel got a
home for her. It was awful that the child was left without a cent. Of
course she must come here, and stay, too. She ought to live with her
folks. We've got enough to take care of her. If we can't do as much
as rich folks, I guess it will be full as well for the girl."

Henry opened his lips to speak, but a glance from Horace checked him.
Sylvia went on talking nervously. The odd manner and tone which Henry
had noticed lately in everything she said and did seemed intensified.
She talked about what room she should make ready for the girl. She
made plan after plan. She was very pale, then she flushed. She walked
aimlessly about gesturing with her floury hands.

Finally Henry took her firmly by the shoulder. "Come, Sylvia," he
said, "she won't be here until night. Now you had better get dinner.
It's past twelve." Sylvia gave a quick, frightened glance at him.
Then she went silently out of the room.

"Mrs. Whitman does not seem well," Horace said, softly.

"I think her nerves are all out of order with what she has gone
through with lately," said Henry. "It has been a great change that
has come to us both, Mr. Allen. When a man and woman have lived past
their youth, and made up their minds to bread and butter, and nothing
else, and be thankful if you get that much, it seems more like a slap
than a gift of Providence to have mince-pie thrust into their mouths.
It has been too much for Sylvia, and now, of course, this awful thing
that has happened has upset her, and--"

He stopped, for Sylvia opened the door suddenly. "If s