le she began to
laugh again--she had the prettiest laugh. You don't often hear it now."

"I heard it once the other night," said Anne. "It IS a beautiful
laugh."

"Frank West began to go down after Kenneth's death. He wasn't strong
and it was a shock to him, because he was real fond of the child,
though, as I've said, Leslie was his favorite. He got mopy and
melancholy, and couldn't or wouldn't work. And one day, when Leslie
was fourteen years of age, he hanged himself--and in the parlor, too,
mind you, Anne, right in the middle of the parlor from the lamp hook in
the ceiling. Wasn't that like a man? It was the anniversary of his
wedding day, too. Nice, tasty time to pick for it, wasn't it? And, of
course, that poor Leslie had to be the one to find him. She went into
the parlor that morning, singing, with some fresh flowers for the
vases, and there she saw her father hanging from the ceiling, his face
as black as a coal. It was something awful, believe ME!"

"Oh, how horrible!" said Anne, shuddering. "The poor, poor child!"

"Leslie didn't cry at her father's funeral any more then she had cried
at Kenneth's. Rose whooped and howled for two, however, and Leslie had
all she could do trying to calm and comfort her mother. I was
disgusted with Rose and so was everyone else, but Leslie never got out
of patience. She loved her mother. Leslie is clannish--her own could
never do wrong in her eyes. Well, they buried Frank West beside
Kenneth, and Rose put up a great big monument to him. It was bigger
than his character, believe ME! Anyhow, it was bigger than Rose could
afford, for the farm was mortgaged for more than its value. But not
long after Leslie's old grandmother West died and she left Leslie a
little money--enough to give her a year at Queen's Academy. Leslie had
made up her mind to pass for a teacher if she could, and then earn
enough to put herself through Redmond College. That had been her
father's pet scheme--he wanted her to have what he had lost. Leslie
was full of ambition and her head was chock full of brains. She went
to Queen's, and she took two years' work in one year and got her First;
and when she came home she got the Glen school. She was so happy and
hopeful and full of life and eagerness. When I think of what she was
then and what she is now, I say--drat the men!"

Miss Cornelia snipped her thread off as viciously as if, Nero-like, she
was severing the neck of mankind by th