"What about it, Chet?" the little girl asked rather timidly. "Do you mean where I lived with my mamma and papa before they-they went away?"

"Yes. That's the place."

"It was an apartment," explained Carolyn May.

"Yep. Well, Mr. Stagg ain't never done nothin' about it. He ain't sold it, nor sold the furniture, nor nothin'. You know, Car'lyn May, your folks didn't leave you no money."

"Oh! Didn't they?" cried Carolyn May, greatly startled.

"No. You see, I heard all about it. Mr. Vickers, the lawyer, came in here one day, and your uncle read a letter to him out loud. I couldn't help but hear. The letter was from another lawyer and 'twas all about you and your concerns. I heard it all," said the quite innocent Chet. He had never been taught that it was wrong to listen to other people's private matters and to repeat them.

Carolyn May's lips expressed a round "O" of wonder and surprise. Like his mother, Chet Gormley did not have to be urged when he was telling a bit of news. He was too deeply interested in it himself.

"And Mr. Vickers says: 'So the child hasn't anything of her own, Joe?'"

Chet went on. "And your uncle says: 'Not a dollar, 'cept what I might sell that furniture for,' And he hasn't sold it yet, I know. He just can't make up his mind to do it, it seems.

"My maw says Mr. Stagg always was that way-that he hates to let go of anything he once gets in his hands. But it ain't that, I tell her,"

declared Chet. "It's just that he can't make up his mind to sell them things that was your mother's, Car'lyn May," added the boy, with a deeper insight into Mr. Stagg's character than one might have given him credit for possessing.

But Carolyn May had heard some news that impressed her more deeply than this idiosyncrasy of Joseph Stagg's. It made her suddenly quiet, and she was glad a customer came into the store just then to draw Chet Gormley's attention.

The child had never thought before about how the good things of life came to her-her food, clothes, and lodging. She had never heard much talk of ways and means at home between her father and mother. When she had come to her uncle, if she had thought about it at all, she had supposed her parents had left ample means for her support, even if Uncle Joe did "take her home and look out for her," as she had suggested to him at their first interview.

But, now, Chet Gormley's chattering had given her a new view of the facts of the case. There had been no money left to spend for her needs.

Uncle Joe was just keeping her out of charity!

"And Prince, too," thought the little girl, with a lump in her throat.

"_He_ hasn't got any more home than a rabbit! And Uncle Joe don't really like dogs-not even now.

"Oh, dear me!" pursued Carolyn May. "It's awful hard to be an orphan.

But to be a _poor_ orphan-just a charity one-is a whole lot worse, I guess.

"Of course, uncles aren't like little girls' _real_ parents. Papas and mammas are glad, I guess, to pay for clothes and food and schoolbooks, and _every_thing. But if a little girl is only a charity orphan, there aren't really any folks that want to support her. I wonder if I ought to stay with Uncle Joe and Aunty Rose and make them so much trouble?"

The thought bit deep into the little girl's very impressionable mind.

The idle chatter of the not very wise, if harmless, Chet Gormley was destined to cause Carolyn May much perturbation of spirit.

She did not remain at the store until her uncle returned. Chet urged her to stay and go home with him for dinner when Mr. Stagg came back, but the little girl did not feel that she could do this. She wished to be alone and to think over this really tragic thing that faced her-the ugly fact that she was a "charity child."

"And you're a charity dog, Prince Cameron," she said aloud, looking down at the mongrel who walked sedately beside her along the country road. "I don't expect you ever thought of it. You never did have any money, and you don't really know who your parents are. You began being a charity dog so early that it hasn't never mattered to you at all-that's how I s'pose it must be.

"And, then, you were always loved. Papa loved you, and so did mamma; and, of course, I always loved you to death, Princey!" she cried, putting both arms suddenly around the dog's neck.

"I-I guess that's where it must be," pursued Carolyn May. "If persons are only loved, it doesn't matter if they are charity. The love takes all the sting out of being poor, I guess. But I don't know if Uncle Joe just does love me or not."

The little girl had loitered along the road until it was now dinner time. Indeed, Aunty Rose would have had the meal on the table twenty minutes earlier. Mr. Stagg had evidently remained at The Corners to sell the cow and eat dinner, too-thus "killing two birds with one stone."

And here Carolyn May and Prince were at Mr. Parlow's carpenter shop, just as the old man was taking off his ap.r.o.n preparatory to going in to his dinner. When Miss Amanda was away nursing, the carpenter ate at a neighbour's table.

Now, Miss Amanda appeared on the side porch.

"Where are you going, little girl?" she asked, smiling.

"Home to Aunty Rose," said Carolyn May bravely. "But I guess I'm late for dinner."

"I didn't know but something had happened," said Mr. Parlow, going, heavy-footed, up the porch steps, "when I seen Joe Stagg hikin' by more'n two hour ago."

Carolyn May told about the man wanting to buy the cow. Mr. Parlow sputtered something from the depths of the wash-basin about the buyer "payin' two prices for the critter, if he bought her of Joe Stagg," but his daughter hastened to cover this by saying:

"Don't you want to come in and eat with us, Carolyn May? Your own dinner will be cold."

"Oh, may I?" cried the little girl. Somehow, she did not feel that she could face Uncle Joe just now with this new thought that Chet Gormley's words had put into her heart. Then she hesitated, with her hand on the gate latch.

"Will there be some sc.r.a.ps for Prince?" she asked. "Or bones?"

"I believe I can find something for Prince," Miss Amanda replied. "I owe him more than one good dinner, I guess, for killing that snake. Come in, and we will see."

The little girl at once became more cheerful. She washed her hands and face at the pump bench, as had Mr. Parlow. She found his big spectacles for him (Miss Amanda declared he always managed to lose them when he took them off); and Carolyn May wiped the lenses, too, before the carpenter set them on his nose again.

"There! I believe I kin see good for the first time to-day," he declared. "I reckon I could have seen my work better all the forenoon if I'd had my specs polished up that-a-way. You air a spry young'un, Carolyn May."

With this heart-warming word of approval, they went in to dinner. Miss Amanda was already "dishing up." Unlike the custom at the Stagg house, the Parlows ate in the dining-room. The kitchen was small.

It seemed quite like old times to Carolyn May. Miss Amanda's way of setting the table and serving the food was like her mamma's way. There were individual bread-and-b.u.t.ter plates, and a knife for one's b.u.t.ter and another for one's meat, and several other articles of table furnishings that good Aunty Rose knew nothing about.

Carolyn May thought that Miss Amanda, in her house dress and ruffled ap.r.o.n, with her sleeves turned back above her dimpled, brown elbows, was prettier than ever. Miss Amanda had retained her youthfulness to a remarkable degree. Although she was quiet, there was a sparkle in her brown eyes, and a brisk note in her full, contralto voice that charmed the little girl. Her cheerful observations quite enlivened Carolyn May again.

Even Mr. Parlow proved to be amusing when he was "warmed up."

"So you didn't want to go home with Chet Gormley for dinner, eh?" he repeated. "Mebbe you thought Chet wouldn't leave nothin' for anybody else to eat?"

"Oh, no, Mr. Parlow, it wasn't that!" Carolyn May said, shaking her head.

"But it might ha' been," chuckled the carpenter, "if you'd ever seen Chet eat."

"Now, father!" admonished Miss Amanda.

"Never did see him eat, did you?" pursued the carpenter, still chuckling.

"No, sir."

"Wal, he's holler to his heels, and it's an all-fired long holler, at that! Chet worked for Deacon Allbright, out on the South Road, 'fore he went to Stagg's store. He only worked there part of a season, for he an'

the deacon couldn't get along-no more'n twin brothers," declared Mr.

Parlow.

"Fust place, the deacon is _rayther_ near-has enough on the table to eat, but jest enough, an' that's all. One o' them tables where there ain't no sc.r.a.pin's for ary cat or dog when the folks is through. But, to hear Deacon Allbright ask a blessin' on it, you'd think ev'ry meal was a banquet.

"Wal, Chet was a boy, an' he was tearin' hungry, I reckon, when he got to the table, and the deacon's long-winded prayers was too much for Chet's appet.i.te. With the dinner dished up and his plate full, that poor hungry little snipe had to wait while the deacon filled his mouth with big words.