Before she could reach us, I called out:
"Why did you leave the house, Pomona? Don't you know you should never come away and leave the house empty? I thought I had made you understand that."
"It isn't empty," said Pomona, in an entirely unruffled tone. "Your old boarder is there with his wife and child."
Euphemia and I looked at each other in dismay.
"They came early this afternoon," continued Pomona, "by the 1.14 train, and walked up, he carrying the child."
"It can't be," cried Euphemia. "Their child's married."
"It must have married very young, then," said Pomona, "for it isn't over four years old now."
"Oh," said Euphemia; "I know! It's his grandchild."
"Grandchild!" repeated Pomona, with her countenance more expressive of emotion than I had ever yet seen it.
"Yes," said Euphemia. "But how long are they going to stay? Where did you tell them we were?"
"They didn't say how long they was goin' to stay," answered Pomona. "I told them you had gone to be with some friends in the country, and that I didn't know whether you'd be home to-night or not."
"How could you tell them such a falsehood?" cried Euphemia.
"That was no falsehood," said Pomona; "it was as true as truth. If you're not your own friends, I don't know who is. And I wasn't a-goin' to tell the boarder where you was till I found out whether you
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