us sayin' he mighty sorry 'bout me not goin'."

"Dah now, dah now," cried the woman, casting a pitying glance at the
child, "dat's de las' t'ing. He des a feelin' roun' now. You po',
ign'ant, mothahless chil'. You ain' nevah had no step-mothah, an' you
don' know what hit means."

"But she'd tek keer o' the chillen," persisted Patsy.

"Sich tekin' keer of 'em ez hit 'u'd be. She'd keer fu' 'em to dey
graves. Nobody cain't tell me nuffin 'bout step-mothahs, case I knows
'em. Dey ain' no ooman goin' to tek keer o' nobody else's chile lak
she'd tek keer o' huh own," and Patsy felt a choking come into her
throat and a tight sensation about her heart while she listened as Mrs.
Gibson regaled her with all the choice horrors that are laid at the door
of step-mothers.

From that hour on, one settled conviction took shape and possessed Patsy
Ann's mind; never, if she could help it, would she run the risk of
having a step-mother. Come what may, let her be compelled to do what she
might, let the hope of school fade from her sight forever and a day--but
no step-mother should ever cast her baneful shadow over Patsy Ann's
home.

Experience of life had made her wise for her years, and so for the time
she said nothing to her father; but she began to watch him with wary
eyes, his goings out and his comings in, and to attach new importance to
trifles that had passed unnoticed before by her childish mind.

For instance, if he greased or blacked his boots before going out of an
evening her suspicions were immediately aroused and she saw dim visions
of her father returning, on his arm the terrible ogress whom she had
come to know by the name of step-mother.

Mrs. Gibson's poison had worked well and rapidly. She had thoroughly
inoculated the child's mind with the step-mother virus, but she had not
at the same time made the parent widow-proof, a hard thing to do at
best. So it came to pass that with a mysterious horror growing within
her, Patsy Ann saw her father black his boots more and more often and
fare forth o' nights and Sunday afternoons.

Finally her little heart could contain its sorrow no longer, and one
night when he was later than usual she could not sleep. So she slipped
out of bed, turned up the light, and waited for him, determined to have
it out, then and there.

He came at last and was all surprise to meet the solemn, round eyes of
his little daughter staring at him from across the table.

"W'y, lady gal," he excla