and the youngest. Funny wasn't it?"

Betty waved her braiding wildly.

"Bob was told he had two aunts," she cried excitedly. "They're still
living, aren't they, Grandma Watterby? Do they live near here?"

"I dunno whether they're living or not," said the old woman
cautiously. "Seems like I would 'a' heard if they had died, but mebbe
not. I don't go out much any more, and Emma's no hand for news. Mebbe
they died. I ain't heard a word 'bout the Saunders family for years
and years. Where's your father, boy?"

"He died," said Bob simply. "He was killed in a railroad wreck, and I
guess my mother nearly lost her mind. They found her wandering around
the country, with only her wedding certificate and a few other papers
in a little tin box. And she was sent to the poorhouse. That night I
was born, and she died."

"Dear! dear!" mourned Grandma Watterby, a mist gathering on her
spectacles. "Poor, pretty Faith Saunders! In the poorhouse! The
Saunders was never what you might call rich, but I guess none of 'em
ever saw the inside of the almshouse. And David Henderson was as fine
a young man as you'd want to see. When Faith married him and he took
her away from here, folks thought they'd go far in the world. I
wonder if Hope and Charity ever tried to find out what became of
her?"

"Hope and Charity?" repeated Bob. "Are those my aunts?"

"Yes, Hope and Charity Saunders--they was twins," said the old lady.
"Nice girls, too; and they thought everything of Faith. She was so
much younger and so pretty, and they were like mothers to her. And
she died in the poorhouse! Why didn't they send her baby back to the
girls? They'd 'a' taken care of you and brought you up like their
own."

Bob explained that his mother's mental condition had baffled the
endeavors of the authorities to get information from her regarding
her home and friends, and that she had evidently walked so many miles
from the scene of the wreck that no attempt was made to identify his
father's body. A baby was no novelty in the poorhouse, and no one was
greatly interested in establishing a circle of relatives for him,
and, except for a happy coincidence, he might have remained in
ignorance of his mother's people all his life.

"I must find out where my aunts live," he concluded. "I overheard
some chaps on the train talking about the Saunders place, and Betty
and I decided that that must be the homestead farm. They may not live
there now, but surely whoever does, co