er to go there," said Mrs.
Sherman, "after the way papa has treated us. I can never forgive him
for all the terrible things he has said about Jack, and I know Jack can
never be friends with him on account of what he has said about me. He
has been so harsh and unjust that I don't want my little Lloyd to have
anything to do with him. I wouldn't for worlds have him think that I
encouraged her going there."

"Well, yes, I know," answered her aunt, slowly. "But there are some
things to consider besides your pride, Elizabeth. There's the child
herself, you know. Now that Jack has lost so much, and your prospects
are so uncertain, you ought to think of her interests. It would be a
pity for Locust to go to strangers when it has been in your family for
so many generations. That's what it certainly will do unless something
turns up to interfere. Old Judge Woodard told me himself that your
father had made a will, leaving everything he owns to some medical
institution. Imagine Locust being turned into a sanitarium or a
training-school for nurses!"

"Dear old place!" said Mrs. Sherman, with tears in her eyes. "No one
ever had a happier childhood than I passed under these old locusts.
Every tree seems like a friend. I would be glad for Lloyd to enjoy the
place as I did."

"I'd let her go as much as she pleases, Elizabeth. She's so much like
the old Colonel that they ought to understand each other, and get along
capitally. Who knows, it might end in you all making up some day."

Mrs. Sherman raised her head haughtily. "No, indeed, Aunt Sally. I can
forgive and forget much, but you are greatly mistaken if you think I can
go to such lengths as that. He closed his doors against me with a curse,
for no reason on earth but that the man I loved was born north of the
Mason and Dixon line. There never was a nobler man living than Jack,
and papa would have seen it if he hadn't deliberately shut his eyes and
refused to look at him. He was just prejudiced and stubborn."

Aunt Sally said nothing, but her thoughts took the shape of Mom Beck's
declaration, "The Lloyds is all stubborn."

"I wouldn't go through his gate now if he got down on his knees and
begged me," continued Elizabeth, hotly.

"It's too bad," exclaimed her aunt; "he was always so perfectly devoted
to 'little daughter,' as he used to call you. I don't like him myself.
We never could get along together at all, because he is so high-strung
and overbearing. But I know it would