a letter came
from Clapton, written in a quavering hand crossed and recrossed on thin,
crackling paper, deeply edged in black.

CARMINIA HOUSE,

February 20th.

DEAR FLORENCE,

My niece Mabel writes to tell us you intend to make your little
girl an actress. This news has been a great shock to me. You must
not forget that she is a granddaughter of Frederick Horner, the
Chymist. She must not be a harlot given over to paint and powder.
God is jealous of the safety of His lambs. This plan of dancing is
a snare of Satan. You should read the Word, my dear niece. You will
read of young maidens who danced before the Ark of the Covenant in
the joy of the Lord, but that is not to say your little girl should
dance for lewdness and gold when she might be singing the sweet
songs of Salvation and joining in the holy mirth of the Children of
Israel. If you had let us adopt her, this desire would not have
come. We do not let the Devil into our house. You will be the cause
of my death, niece, with your wicked intentions. I am an old woman
very near to Emmanuel. This great sin must not be.

Your loving aunt,

ALICE HORNER.

P. S.--I am in bed, but with the warmer weather I shall come to see
you, my dear niece, and warn you again.--A. H.

"Good thing she is in bed," commented Mrs. Raeburn, as she finished
reading her aunt's letter.

"What's all this about Jenny going for a dancer?" asked Charlie that
evening.

"Whatever has it got to do with you, I should like to know?" said his
wife.

"Well, I am her father, when all's said and done. Aren't I?"

"And a nice example to a child. I suppose somebody's got to look after
you when I die."

"I expect the old man will die first. I've been feeling very poorly this
year."

"First I've heard of it."

"Why, only last night my finger was hurting something chronic."

"Show me."

"Be careful." Mr. Raeburn offered the sick finger for his wife's
inspection.

"I can't see nothing."

"There, blessed if I'm not showing of you the wrong hand."

"You must have been shocking bad."

"Well, it's better now."

"That's enough of you and your fingers. Why shouldn't Jenny be a
dancer?" persisted Mrs. Raeburn.

"Don't go blaring it all over the neighborhood, anyhow, and don't give
me the blame for it if anything goes wrong."

"Look here, Charlie, when I married you, I hadn't got n