ain't little Rebecca! Heavens, child! Where on earth did you come from? Now I remember that old O'Shea did tell me you had gone to Virginia. I was mad enough, too, when I found you had taken my widow's bonnet with you—worn it off. I didn't have a rag of black to show respect for my poor dead husband. But he liked you better than he did me and it was right for you to wear the widow's weeds, I reckon.
"What did your father's folks think of having their po' kin sent back on their hands? If I had known about them I certainly would have shipped you to them long ago. I never thought of looking in that old trunk. I might have found those letters and if you hadn't been there your Daddy and I would have been living together yet—that is, of course, provided he hadn't got sick. I can't bear sick folks—never could. I knew all the time he liked you better than he did me—found you more his class. He was a clever guy—poor old fellow!"
All this she rattled off without stopping. She asked questions, but never waited for an answer.
"You've changed a lot, child! I reckon you get better eats than you did on Tenth Street."
"I'm real glad to see you," faltered Rebecca. "Do you know why Mrs. O'Shea doesn't answer
