hire. For--for thunder sakes, what's YOUR name?"

"Emily Richards Thomas."

"Em--Emily--Richards--Thomas"

"Yes, sir."

"Emily Richards Thomas! What was your ma's name?"

"Mamma was Mrs. Thomas. Her front name was Mary. She's dead. Don't you
want to see your letter? I've got it now."

She lifted one of the flapping coat sleeves and extended a crumpled,
damp envelope. Captain Cy took it in a dazed fashion and drew a long
breath. Then he tore open the envelope and read the following:

DEAR CAPTAIN WHITTAKER:

The bearer of this is Emily Richards Thomas. She is seven, going on
eight, but old for her years. Her mother was Mary Thomas that used to
be Mary Thayer. It was her you wrote to about keeping house for you, but
she had been dead a fortnight before your letter come. She had bronchial
pneumonia and it carried her off, having always been delicate and
with more troubles to bear than she could stand, poor thing. Since her
husband, who I say was a scamp even if he is dead, left her and the
baby, she has took rooms with me and done sewing and such. When she
passed away I wrote to Seth Howes, a relation of hers out West, and, so
far as I know, the only one she had. I told the Howes man that Mary had
gone and Emmie was left. Would they take her? I wrote. And Seth's wife
wrote they couldn't, being poorer than poverty themselves. I was afraid
she would have to go to a Home, but when your letter came I wrote the
Howeses again. And Mrs. Howes wrote back that you was rich, and a sort
of far-off relation of Mary's, and probably you would be glad to take
the child to bring up. Said that she had some correspondence with you
about Mary before. So I send Emmie to you. Somebody's got to take care
of her and I can't afford it, though I would if I could, for she's a
real nice child and some like her mother. I do hope she can stay with
you. It seems a shame to send her to the orphan asylum. I send along
what clothes she's got, which ain't many.

Respectfully yours,

SARAH OLIVER.

Captain Cy read the letter through. Then he wiped his forehead.

"Well!" he muttered. "WELL! I never in my life! I--I never did! Of
all--"

Emily Richards Thomas looked up from the depths of the coat collar.

"Don't you think," she said, "that you had better send to the depot for
my box? I can get dry SOME this way, but mamma always made me change my
clothes as soon as I could. She used to be afraid I'd get cold."

CHAPTER VI

ICICLES