Mary-'Gusta looked at him. "Uncle Shad," she said, "what does all this mean, anyway? Why did you go to her house? And what was the mysterious business of yours with Mr. Keith?"

The Captain shook his head. "We've got a hen on, same as I told you,"

he declared. "When it's time for the critter to come off the nest you'll see what's been hatched same as the rest of us. How'd you like that Mrs.

Wyeth? Had a pretty sharp edge on her tongue, didn't she?"

Mary-'Gusta considered. "Yes," she answered; "she was outspoken and blunt, of course. But she is a lady--a real lady, I think--and I'm sure I should like her very much when I knew her better. I think, though, that she would expect a person to behave--behave in her way, I mean."

"Judas! I should say so. Don't talk! I ain't felt so much as if I was keepin' my toes on a chalk mark since I went to school. I don't know what her husband died of, but I'll bet 'twasn't curvature of the spine.

If he didn't stand up straight 'twasn't his wife's fault."

Mary-'Gusta's curiosity concerning the mysterious business which had brought them to the city became greater than ever before it was time to take the train for home. Apparently all of that business, whatever it might be, had been transacted when her uncle and Mr. Keith took their short walk together after luncheon. Captain Shadrach seemed to consider his Boston errand done and the pair spent half of the hour before train time wandering along Tremont and Washington Streets looking into shop windows, and the other half in the waiting room of the South Station.

Great and growing as was her curiosity, the girl asked no more questions. She was determined not to ask them. And the Captain, neither while in the city nor during the homeward journey, referred to the "hen"

in which he and his friend from Chicago were mutually interested. It was not until nine o'clock that evening, when supper was over and Zoeth, having locked up the store, was with them in the sitting-room, that the hitherto secretive fowl came off the nest.

Then Shadrach, having given his partner a look and received one in return, cleared his throat and spoke.

"Mary-'Gusta," he said, "me and your Uncle Zoeth have got some news for you. I cal'late you've been wonderin' a little mite what that business of Mr. Keith's and mine was, ain't you?"

Mary-'Gusta smiled. "I have wondered--just a little," she observed, with mild sarcasm.

"Yes--yes, I ain't surprised. Well, the business is done and it's settled, and it's about you."

"About me? Why, Uncle Shad! How can it be about me?"

"'Cause it can and it is, that's why. Mary-'Gusta, me and Zoeth have been thinkin' about you a good deal lately and we've come to the conclusion that we ain't treated you just right."

"Haven't treated me right? YOU?"

"Yes, us. You're a good girl and a smart girl--the smartest and best girl there is in this town. A girl like that ought to do somethin'

better'n than stay here in South Harniss and keep store. Keepin' store's all right for old hulks like Zoeth Hamilton and Shad Gould, but you ain't an old hulk; you're a young craft right off the ways and you ought to have a chance to cruise in the best water there is."

"Uncle Shad, what are you talking about? Cruise in the best water?"

"That's what I said. You ought to mix with the best folks and get a fine education and meet somebody besides drummers and--and Sol Higgins's son.

Selling coffins may be a good job, I don't say 'tain't; somebody's got to do it and we'll all have to invest in that kind of--er--furniture sometime or 'nother. And Dan Higgins is a good enough boy, too. But he ain't your kind."

"My kind! Uncle Shad, what in the world have I got to do with Dan Higgins and coffins--and all the rest of it?"

"Nothin', nothin' at all. That's what I'm tryin' to tell you if you'll give me a chance. Mary-'Gusta, your Uncle Zoeth and I have decided that you must go to school up to Boston, at the Misses Cabot's school there.

You'll board along with that Mrs. Wyeth, the one we met today. She's a good woman, I cal'late, though she is so everlastin' straight up and down. You'll board there and you'll go to school to those Cabot women.

And--"

But Mary-'Gusta interrupted. The hen was off the nest now, there was no doubt of that, and of all unexpected and impossible hatchings hers was the most complete. The absurdity of the idea, to the girl's mind, overshadowed even the surprise of it.

"What?" she said. "Uncle Shad, what--? Do you mean that you and Uncle Zoeth have been in conspiracy to send me away to school? To send me away to Boston?"

Shadrach nodded.

"No conspiracy about it," he declared. "Me and Zoeth and Mr. Keith, we--"

"Mr. Keith? Yes, yes, I see. It was Mr. Keith who put the idea in your head. How perfectly silly!"

"Silly? Why is it silly?"

"Because it is. It's ridiculous."

"No, it ain't, it's common sense. Other girls go to city finishin'

schools, don't they? That Irene Mullet's just gone, for one. Don't you think we figger to do as much for our girl as Becky Mullet can do for hers? Jumpin' fire! If you ain't worth a hogshead of girls like Irene Mullet then I miss my guess."

"Hush, Uncle Shad; what difference does that make?"

And now Zoeth put in a word. "Mary-'Gusta," he said, "you know what a good school like the one Shad's been speakin' of can do for a girl. I know you know it. Now, be right down honest; wouldn't you like to have a couple of years, say, at a school like that, if you could have 'em just as well as not? Didn't you say not more'n a fortni't ago that you was glad Irene Mullet was goin' to have such a chance to improve herself?"

Mary-'Gusta had said that very thing; she could not truthfully deny it.

"Of course I did," she answered. "And I am glad. But Irene's case and mine are different. Irene isn't needed at home. I am, and--"

Shadrach broke in. "Ah, ha! Ah, ha! Zoeth," he crowed, triumphantly.

"Didn't I tell you she'd say that? I knew she'd say she wouldn't go 'cause she'd think she'd ought to stay here and look out for us. Well, Mary-'Gusta, you listen to me. Zoeth and I are your guardians, lawfully appointed. We're your bosses, young lady, for a spell yet. And you're goin' to do as we say."

"But--"

"There ain't any 'buts.' The 'buts' are all past and gone. Mr. Keith has arranged for you to board and room along with Mrs. Wyeth and I've arranged for your schoolin' at the Cabot place. Yes, and I've done more'n that: I paid for your first year's schoolin' this very afternoon.

So there! THAT'S ended."

It was not ended, of course. Mary-'Gusta went to her room that night declaring she would not leave her uncles to attend any finishing school.

They went to theirs vowing that she should. The real end came the next day when Zoeth put the subject before her in a new light by saying:

"Look here, Mary-'Gusta; just listen to me a minute and think. Suppose the boot was on t'other foot: suppose you wanted us to do somethin' to please you, you'd expect us to do it, wouldn't you? Anyhow, you know mighty well we WOULD do it. Now we want you to do this to please us.

We've set our hearts on it."

Mary-'Gusta was silent for a minute or more. The partners watched her anxiously. Then she asked an unusual question, one concerning her own financial status.

"Can I afford it?" she asked. "Have I money enough of my own?"

Zoeth looked troubled. Shadrach, however, answered promptly and diplomatically.

"Haven't I told you," he said, "that Zoeth and me are your guardians?

And didn't I say we'd gone into the thing careful and deliberate? And didn't I pay your first year's schoolin' yesterday? Don't that alone show what we think about the money. Be still, Zoeth; that's enough.

Well, Mary-'Gusta?"

Mary-'Gusta considered a moment longer. Then she rose and, crossing the room, gave them each a kiss.

"I'll go," she said, simply. "I'll go because I think you mean it and that it will please you. For that reason and no other I'll go."