s just worship Blanche. They save their dimes to buy her
everything she wants--or used to want. Heaven knows what will satisfy
her now, although I can't see that she's one bit spoiled. But she's just
like a religion to them; they're not much on church. I'll tell you, sir,
what I couldn't say to any one else, not even to these relations who've
been so kind to me--but there's wildness, just a streak, in all my
children, and I believe, I know, it's Blanche that keeps them straight.
My girls get bitter, sometimes; work all the week and little fun, not
caring for common men and no chance to marry gentlemen; and sometimes
they break out and talk dreadful; then, when they're over it, they say
they'll live for Blanche--they've said it over and over, and they mean
it. Every sacrifice they've made for her--and they've made many--has
done them good. It isn't that Blanche ever says a word of the preachy
sort, or has anything of the Sunday-school child about her, or even
tries to smooth them down when they're excited. It's just herself. The
only thing she ever does is sometimes to draw herself up and look
scornful, and that nearly kills them. Little as she is, they're crazy
about having her respect. I've grown superstitious about her. Until she
came I used to get frightened, terribly, sometimes, and I believe she
came for that. So--you see! I know Blanche is too fine for us and ought
to have the best; but, then, they are to be considered, too. They have
their rights, and they've got much more good than bad in them. I don't
know! I don't know! It's kept me awake many nights."

Orth rose abruptly. "Perhaps you will take some further time to think it
over," he said. "You can stay a few weeks longer--the matter cannot be
so pressing as that."

The woman rose. "I've thought this," she said; "let Blanche decide. I
believe she knows more than any of us. I believe that whichever way she
decided would be right. I won't say anything to her, so you won't think
I'm working on her feelings; and I can trust you. But she'll know."

"Why do you think that?" asked Orth, sharply. "There is nothing uncanny
about the child. She is not yet seven years old. Why should you place
such a responsibility upon her?"

"Do you think she's like other children?"

"I know nothing of other children."

"I do, sir. I've raised six. And I've seen hundreds of others. I never
was one to be a fool about my own, but Blanche isn't like any other
child living--I'm cert