ose likely she is."

The captain's cheerfulness vanished.

"No," he said, shortly, "she isn't. She wanted to, but she doesn't feel
she can leave the boardin'-house with nobody to look after it."

Miss Parker seemed pleased, for some reason or other.

"I don't wonder," she said, heartily. "She shouldn't be left all alone
herself, either. If that ungrateful, selfish Orphan's Home minx is
selfish enough to go and leave her, all the more reason my brother
shouldn't. Whatever else us Parkers may be, we ain't selfish. We think
about others. Kenelm, dear, you must stay at work and help Mrs. Barnes
around the house tomorrow. You and I'll go to the Fair on Saturday. I
don't mind; I'd just as soon go twice as not."

Kenelm sprang to his feet. He was so angry that he stuttered.

"You--you--YOU don't care!" he shouted. "'Cause you're goin' TWICE!
That's a divil of a don't care, that is!"

"Kenelm! My own brother! Cursin' and swearin'!"

"I ain't, and--and I don't care if I be! What's the matter with you,
Hannah Parker? One minute you're sailin' into me tellin' me to heave up
my job and not demean myself doin' odd jobs in a boardin'-house barn.
And the next minute you're tellin' me I ought to stay to home and--and
help out that very boardin'-house. I won't! By--by thunder-mighty, I
won't! I'm goin' to that Cattle Show tomorrow if it takes my last cent."

Hannah smiled. "How many last cents have you got, Kenelm?" she asked.
"You was doin' your best to borrer a quarter of me this mornin'."

"I've got more'n you have. I--I--everything there is here--yes, and
every cent there is here--belongs to me by rights. You ain't got nothin'
of your own."

Miss Parker turned upon him. "To think," she wailed, brokenly, "to think
that my own brother--all the brother I've got--can stand afore me and
heave my--my poverty in my face. I may be dependent on him. I am, I
suppose. But Oh, the disgrace of it! the--Oh! Oh! Oh!"

Captain Obed hurried upstairs to his room. Long after he had shut the
door he heard the sounds of Hannah's sobs and Kenelm's pleadings that
he "never meant nothin'." Then came silence and, at last, the sounds of
footsteps on the stairs. They halted in the upper hall.

"I don't know, Kenelm," said Hannah, sadly. "I'll try to forgive you.
I presume likely I must. But when I think of how I've been a mother to
you--"

"Now, Hannah, there you go again. How could you be my mother when you
ain't but four year older'n I be? Y