times the spirit and go that Rose had, and a
far better figure. Now you know, Anne, I always take the ground that
us women ought to stand by each other. We've got enough to endure at
the hands of the men, the Lord knows, so I hold we hadn't ought to
clapper-claw one another, and it isn't often you'll find me running
down another woman. But I never had much use for Rose Elliott. She
was spoiled to begin with, believe ME, and she was nothing but a lazy,
selfish, whining creature. Frank was no hand to work, so they were
poor as Job's turkey. Poor! They lived on potatoes and point, believe
ME. They had two children--Leslie and Kenneth. Leslie had her
mother's looks and her father's brains, and something she didn't get
from either of them. She took after her Grandmother West--a splendid
old lady. She was the brightest, friendliest, merriest thing when she
was a child, Anne. Everybody liked her. She was her father's favorite
and she was awful fond of him. They were 'chums,' as she used to say.
She couldn't see any of his faults--and he WAS a taking sort of man in
some ways.

"Well, when Leslie was twelve years old, the first dreadful thing
happened. She worshipped little Kenneth--he was four years younger
than her, and he WAS a dear little chap. And he was killed one
day--fell off a big load of hay just as it was going into the barn, and
the wheel went right over his little body and crushed the life out of
it. And mind you, Anne, Leslie saw it. She was looking down from the
loft. She gave one screech--the hired man said he never heard such a
sound in all his life--he said it would ring in his ears till Gabriel's
trump drove it out. But she never screeched or cried again about it.
She jumped from the loft onto the load and from the load to the floor,
and caught up the little bleeding, warm, dead body, Anne--they had to
tear it from her before she would let it go. They sent for me--I can't
talk of it."

Miss Cornelia wiped the tears from her kindly brown eyes and sewed in
bitter silence for a few minutes.

"Well," she resumed, "it was all over--they buried little Kenneth in
that graveyard over the harbor, and after a while Leslie went back to
her school and her studies. She never mentioned Kenneth's name--I've
never heard it cross her lips from that day to this. I reckon that old
hurt still aches and burns at times; but she was only a child and time
is real kind to children, Anne, dearie. After a whi