e child I have not yet decided, but she will _not_ go to the
poor-house.'

'Oh, Mr. Tracy,' Harold burst out, 'she is mine. She is to live with
grandma and me. You will not take her from me--say you will not?'

'_Vill not_,' Jerry reiterated, imitating as well as she could Harold's
last words.

For a moment Mr. Tracy looked fixedly at the boy, pleading for a burden
which would necessitate toil, and self-denial, and patience of no
ordinary kind and never had he despised himself more than he did then,
when, believing what he did believe, he said at last:

'I will talk with your grandmother, and see what arrangements we can
make. I rather think you have the best right to her. But she must stay
here to-night and until after the funeral, when she can go with you, if
you like.'

To this Harold did not object, and as Jerry seemed very happy and
content, he left her, while she was exploring the long drawing-room, and
examining curiously the different articles of furniture. As she did not
seem disposed to touch anything, she was allowed to go where she liked,
although Mrs. Frank remonstrated against her roaming all over the house
as if she belonged there, and suggested again that she be sent to the
kitchen. But Frank said 'no,' decidedly, and Jerry was left to herself,
except as the nurse-girl and Charles looked after her a little.

And so it came about that towards evening she found herself in the upper
hall, and after making a tour of the rooms, whose doors were open, she
came to one whose door was shut--nor could she turn the knob, although
she tried with all her might. Doubling her tiny fist, she knocked upon
the door, and then, as no one came, kicked against it with her foot, but
still with no result.

Inside the room, with Gretchen's picture, Arthur sat in his
dressing-gown, very nervous and a little inclined to be irritable and
captious. He knew there had been an inquest, and that many people had
come and gone that day, for he had seen them from his window, and had
seen, too, the sleigh, with Frank, and the coroner, and Harold, and a
blue hood, drive into the yard. But to the blue hood he never gave a
thought, as he was only intent upon the dead woman, whose presence in
the house made him so nervous and restless.

'I shall be glad when she is buried. I have been so cold and shaky ever
since they brought her here,' he said to Charles, as, with a shiver, he
drew his chair nearer to the fire and leaning back wearily