"Of course," said Aunty Rose composedly, "I expected you to come here. I do not know what Joseph Stagg expected. But I did not suppose you would have a dog. Where is Joseph Stagg?"

"He-he's coming."

"With the dog?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Aunty Rose seemed to take some time to digest this; but she made no further comment in regard to the matter, only saying:

"Let us go into the house, Car'lyn May. You must take off your hat and bathe your face and hands."

Carolyn May Cameron followed the stately figure of Aunty Rose Kennedy into the blue-and-white kitchen of the old house, with something of the feelings of a culprit on the way to the block.

Such a big kitchen as it was! The little girl thought it must be almost as big as their whole apartment in Harlem "put together"-and they had a tiny private hall, too. There was a great, deep, enameled sink, with hot and cold water faucets over it, and a big, shiny, corrugated drainboard beside it. Evidently Aunty Rose was not dependent upon the old well in the yard for her water supply.

There was a shining copper boiler, and a great range, and set tubs of stone, and a big dresser, and a kitchen cabinet. The walls were covered with tile paper and the floor with linoleum, and there were plenty of braided mats about to make the room seem livable. At the cooler end of the kitchen the supper table was already set-for three.

"Why," mused the little girl, "she must have suspected me," and a warmer glow filtered into the heart of the "suspected" guest.

It was not till afterwards that she realised that the extra plate on the table was a part of the old-time Quaker creed-the service for the Unknown Guest.

"Used to make me feel right spooky when she first came here," Mr. Stagg sometimes said, "but I got used to it. And it does seem hospitable."

The little girl took off her plain black hat, shook back her hair, and patted it smooth with her hands, then plunged her hands and face into the basin of cool water Aunty Rose had drawn for her at the sink. The dust was all washed away and a fresh glow came into her flowerlike face.

Aunty Rose watched her silently.

Such a dignified, upright, unresponsive woman as she seemed standing there! And so particular, neat, and immaculate was this kitchen!

Carolyn May, as she dried her face and hands, heard a familiar whine at the door. It was Prince. She wondered if she had at all broken the ice for him with Aunty Rose.

"Oh," the little girl mused, "I wonder what she will say to a mongorel."

CHAPTER III-GOING TO BED

Mr. Stagg had fastened Prince's strap to the porch rail, and he now came in with the bag.

"Is that all the child's baggage, Joseph Stagg?" asked Aunty Rose, taking it from his hand.

"Why-why, I never thought to ask her," the man admitted. "Have you a trunk check, Car'lyn?"

"No, sir."

"They sent you up here with only that bag?" Mr. Stagg said with some exasperation. "Haven't you got any clothes but those you stand in?"

"Mrs. Price said-said they weren't suitable," explained the little girl.

"You see, they aren't black."

"Oh!" exploded her uncle.

"You greatly lack tact, Joseph Stagg," said Aunty Rose, and the hardware dealer cleared his throat loudly as he went to the sink to perform his pre-supper ablutions. Carolyn May did not understand just what the woman meant.

"Ahem!" said Uncle Joe gruffly. "S'pose I ought t've read that letter before. What's come of it, Car'lyn May?"

But just then the little girl was so deeply interested in what Aunty Rose was doing that she failed to hear him. Mrs. Kennedy brought out of the pantry a tin pie plate, on which were sc.r.a.ps of meat and bread, besides a goodly marrow bone.

"If you think the dog is hungry, Car'lyn May," she said, "you would better give him this before we break our fast."

"Oh, Aunty Rose!" gasped the little girl, her sober face all a-smile.

"He'll be de-_light_-ed."

She carried the pan out to Prince. But first, seeing the immaculate condition of the porch floor, she laid a sack down before the hungry dog and put the pan upon it.

"For, you see," she told Aunty Rose, who stood in the kitchen doorway watching her, "when he has a bone, he just _will_ get grease all around.

He really can't help it."

Aunty Rose made no audible comment, but she seemed to view Prince with more curiosity than hostility.

When the door closed again, Mrs. Kennedy went to the stove, and instantly, with the opening of the oven, the rush of delicious odour from it made Carolyn May's mouth fairly water. The lunch she had eaten on the train seemed to have happened a long, long time ago.

Such flaky biscuit-two great pans full of the brown beauties! Mr. Stagg sat down at the table and actually smiled.

"You never made any bread that _smelt_ better, Aunty Rose," he said emphatically.

She had removed her sunbonnet, and her grey-brown hair proved to be in perfectly smooth braids wound about her head. She must have been well over sixty years of age. Uncle Joe seemed boyish beside her; yet Carolyn May had at first thought the hardware dealer a very old man.

The little girl took her indicated place at the table timidly. The cloth was a red and white checked one, freshly ironed, as were the napkins to match. There was a squat old silver bowl in the middle of the board, full of spoons of various sizes, and also a castor, like a miniature carousel, holding several bottles of sauces and condiments. The china was of good quality and prettily flowered. The b.u.t.ter was iced, and there was a great gla.s.s pitcher of milk, which looked cool and inviting.

"Joseph Stagg," said Aunty Rose, sitting down, "ask a blessing."

Uncle Joe's harsh voice seemed suddenly to become gentle as he reverently said grace. A tear or two squeezed through Carolyn May's closed eyelids, for that had been her duty at home; she had said grace ever since she could speak plainly.

If Aunty Rose noticed the child's emotion, she made no comment, only helped her gravely to cold meat, stewed potatoes, and hot biscuit.

Mr. Stagg was in haste to eat and get back to the store. "Or that Chet Gormley will try to make a meal off some of the hardware, I guess," he said gloomily.

"Oh, dear me, Uncle Joe" exclaimed Carolyn May. "If he did that, he'd die of indignation."

"Huh? Oh! I guess 'twould cause indigestion," agreed her uncle.

Aunty Rose did not even smile. She sat so very stiff and upright in her chair that her back never touched the back of the chair; she was very precise and exact in all her movements.

"Bless me!" Mr. Stagg exclaimed suddenly. "What's that on the mantel, Aunty Rose? That yaller letter?"

"A telegram for you, Joseph Stagg," replied the old lady as composedly as though the receipt of a telegram was an hourly occurrence at The Corners.