"She doesn't look like a happy child," agreed the
rector. "Poor little thing! Her aunt Eudora must
have been a queer woman to train a child."
"She is certainly trained," said Sally, ruefully;
"too much so. Content acts as if she were afraid to
move or speak or even breathe unless somebody
signals permission. I pity her."
She was in the storeroom, in the midst of Con-
tent's baggage. The rector sat on an old chair,
smoking. He had a conviction that it behooved him
as a man to stand by his wife during what might
prove an ordeal. He had known Content's deceased
aunt years before. He had also known the clergyman
who had taken charge of her personal property and
sent it on with Content.
"Be prepared for finding almost anything. Sally,"
he observed. "Mr. Zenock Shanksbury, as I re-
member him, was so conscientious that it amounted
to mania. I am sure he has sent simply unspeakable
things rather than incur the reproach of that con-
science of his with regard to defrauding Content of
one jot or tittle of that personal property."
Sally shook out a long, black silk dress, with jet
dangling here and there. "Now here is this dress,"
said she. "I suppose I really must keep this, but
when that child is grown up the silk will probably
be cracked and entirely worthless."
"You had better take the two trunks and pack
them with such things, and take your chances.
Pages:
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126