es. It was a
veritable feast. But without comment she made the tea, the water being
already boiling, and seating Ingua opposite her at the table she served
the child as liberally as she dared, bearing in mind her sensitiveness
to "charity."

But Ingua considered this a "party," where as a guest she was entitled
to all the good things, and she ate with a ravenous haste that was
pitiful, trying the while not to show how hungry she was or how good
everything tasted to her.

Mary Louise didn't burden her with conversation during the meal, which
she prolonged until the child positively could eat no more. Then she
drew their chairs to a place where they had the best view of the river
and woodland--with the old Cragg cottage marring the foreground--and
said:

"Now we will have a good, long talk together."

Ingua sighed deeply.

"Don't we hev to do the dishes?" she asked.

"No; Aunt Polly will come for them, by and by. All we have to do now is
to enjoy your visit, which I hope you will repeat many times while I am
living here."

Again the child sighed contentedly.

"I wish ye was goin' ter stay always," she remarked. "You folks is a
sight nicer'n that Joselyn tribe. They kep' us stirred up a good deal
till Ned--"

She stopped abruptly.

"What were the Joselyns like?" inquired Mary Louise, in a casual tone
that was meant to mask her curiosity.

"Well, that's hard to say," answered Ingua thoughtfully. "Ol' Mis'
Kenton were a good lady, an' ev'rybody liked her; but after she died
Ann Kenton come down here with a new husban', who were Ned Joselyn, an'
then things began to happen. Ned was slick as a ban'box an' wouldn't
hobnob with nobody, at first; but one day he got acquainted with Ol'
Swallertail an' they made up somethin' wonderful. I guess other folks
didn't know 'bout their bein' so close, fer they was sly 'bout it,
gen'rally. They'd meet in this summer-house, or they'd meet at our
house, crossin' the river on the steppin'-stones; but when Ned came
over to us Gran'dad allus sent me away an' said he'd skin me if I
listened. But one day--No, I mus'n't tell that," she said, checking
herself quickly, as a hard look came over her face.

"Why not?" softly asked Mary Louise.

"'Cause if I do I'll git killed, that's why," answered the child, in a
tone of conviction.

Something in her manner startled her hearer.

"Who would kill you, Ingua?" she asked.

"Gran'dad would."

"Oh, I'm sure he wouldn't do that, what