ady guest, eyeing
Dorothy closely. "I disremember seein' you before."

"I am Mrs. Carr," repeated Dorothy, mechanically. "My husband, Harlan
Carr, is Uncle Ebeneezer's nephew, and the house was left to him."

"Do tell!" ejaculated the other. "I wouldn't have thought it of Ebeneezer.
I'm Belinda Dodd, relict of Benjamin Dodd, deceased. How many are there
here, my dear?"

"Miss St. Clair, Mr. Chester, Mrs. Holmes and her three children, Uncle
Israel Skiles, and you two, besides Mr. Carr, Mrs. Smithers, and myself."

"Is that all?" asked the visitor, in evident surprise.

"All!" repeated Dorothy. "Isn't that enough?"

"Lord love you, my dear, it's plain to be seen that you ain't never been
here before. Only them few an' so late in the season, too. Why, there's
Cousin Si Martin, an' his wife, an' their eight children, some of the
children bein' married an' havin' other children, an' Sister-in-law Fanny
Wood with her invalid husband, her second husband, that is, an' Rebecca's
Uncle James's third wife with her two daughters, an' Rebecca's sister's
second husband with his new wife an' their little boy, an' Uncle Jason an'
his stepson, the one that has fits, an' Cousin Sally Simmons an' her
daughter, an' the four little Riley children an' their Aunt Lucretia, an'
Step-cousin Betsey Skiles with her two nieces, though I misdoubt their
comin' this year. The youngest niece had typhoid fever here last Summer
for eight weeks, an' Betsey thinks the location ain't healthy, in spite of
it's bein' so near the sanitarium. She was threatenin' to get the health
department or somethin' after Ebeneezer an' have the drinkin' water looked
into, so's they didn't part on the pleasantest terms, but in the main
we've all got along well together.

"If Betsey knowed Ebeneezer was dead, she wouldn't hesitate none about
comin', typhoid or no typhoid. Mebbe it was her fault some, for Ebeneezer
wa'n't to blame for his drinkin' water no more 'n I'd be. Our minister
used to say that there was no discipline for the soul like livin' with
folks, year in an' year out hand-runnin', an' Betsey is naturally that
kind. Ebeneezer always lived plain, but we're all simple folks, not carin'
much for style, so we never minded it. The air's good up here an' I dunno
any better place to spend the Summer. My gracious! You be n't sick, be
you?"

"I don't know what to do," murmured Dorothy, her white lips scarcely
moving; "I don't know what to do."

"Well, now," re