aped to her sallow
cheeks. "But this house is no place for him to be cooped up reading all
day," she went on in a worried tone, after a moment, "and I can't let
him run with the boys around here; it's a regular gang. I don't know
what I AM going to do with him. 'Tisn't as if he had a father."

"He wouldn't like to come up to me, and get broken on the Mail?" Barry
queried in his interested way. "He'd get lots of fresh air, and he
could sleep at my house. I'll keep an eye on him, if you say so."

"Go on the newspaper! I think he'd go crazy with joy," his mother said.
Tears came into her faded eyes. "Barry, you're real good-hearted to
offer it," she said gratefully. "Of all things in the world, that's the
one Russ wants to do. But won't he be in your way?"

"He'll fit right in," Barry said. "Pack him up and send him along. If
he doesn't like it, I guess his mother'll let him come home."

"Like it!" she echoed. Then in a lower tone she added, "You don't know
what a load you're taking off my mind, Barry." She paused, colored
again, and, to his surprise, continued rapidly, with a quick glance at
the door, "Barry, I never did a thing like this before in my life, and
I can't do it now. You know how much I owe Aunt Ide: she took me in,
and did for me just as she did for Het, when I was a baby; she made my
wedding dress, and she came right to me when Gus died, but I can't let
you go back to Santa Paloma not knowing."

"Not knowing what?" Barry said, close upon the mystery at last.

"You know what Aunt Ide is," Mrs. Smiley said pleadingly. "There's not
a mite of harm in her, but she just--You know she'd been signing
Hetty's checks for a long time, Barry--"

"Go on," Barry said, as she paused distressedly.

"And she just went on--" Mrs. Smiley continued simply.

"Went on WHAT?" Barry demanded.

"After Het--went. Barry," the woman interrupted herself, "I oughtn't be
the one to tell you, but don't you see--Don't you see Het's--"

"Dead," Barry heard his own voice say heavily. The cheap little room
seemed to be closing in about him, he gripped the back of the chair by
which he was standing. Mrs. Smiley began to cry quietly. They stood so
for a long time.

After a while he sat down, and she told him about it, with that
faithfulness to inessential detail that marks her class. Barry listened
like a man in a dream. Mrs. Smiley begged him to stay to dinner to see
"Aunt Ide," but he refused, and in the gritty dusk he found hims