ad rarely seen
before. Sally and Joe were solemnly denounced, disinherited, and
abandoned. And any child of his who spoke to either should share their
fate.

"Oh, Papa--don't!" quavered Lydia, as her father strode to the Bible,
and with horrible precision inked from the register the record of
Sally's birth. Mrs. Monroe looked terrified, and even Leonard was pale.
But Martie, to her own amazement, found a sudden calm scorn in her
heart. What a silly thing to do, just because poor little Sally married
the boy she loved. How dared Pa call himself a Christian while he
regarded Sally's downward step from a mere social level a disgrace! And
how cruel he was, playing upon poor Ma's and Lydia's feelings just for
his own satisfaction.

"You understand me, don't you, Martie?" he asked grimly.

"I suppose so." An ugly smile curved Martie's lips. Her lids were half
lowered.

"Well--remember it. And never any one of you mention your sister's name
to me again!"

"No, Pa," said four fervent voices. Then they had dinner.

The next day the three women packed up Sally's things; Lydia and her
mother in tears, but Martie strangely content. Something had happened
at all events. She put Sally's baby sash and collar and other treasured
rubbish in the package, with two scribbled lines pinned to them:
"Praying for you, darling. Pa is furious. The slipper is for luck. Your
M."

And then the eventless days began to wheel by again. Rose came home,
and came to see Martie, and Martie dined at the Parkers'. Rodney,
though obviously blind to all women but his wife, was cordial and
gallant to the guest and Rose took her up to her pretty, frilly
bedroom, so that Martie might take off her hat and coat, and told
Martie that Rod was the neatest man she had ever seen, such a fusser
about his bath and his clothes. On Rose's bureau was a big photograph
of Rodney in a silver frame, and on Rodney's high dresser a charming
photograph of Rose in her wedding gown. When she was putting on her hat
four hours later to be driven home by Rodney, Martie heard Rose's
wifely voice in the hall: "You are a darling to do this, Rod!" The tone
was that in which a man is praised by his women for a hard duty
cheerfully done. Martie was not surprised when Rose merrily confided to
her that Rod wanted his wife to go along--the silly!--and accompanied
them on the short drive.

She did not see much of the young Parkers after that, nor did she
expect to be counted among th