BRIGHT and cheery as was the parlor at No. 30 on
that autumnal morning when Edna was expected,
the brightest, prettiest thing by far in it was the
little girl whom Aunt Luna had dressed with so much care,
and who sat propped with cushions and pillows in her easy
chair, with her hair falling in soft curls about her face, and
her eyes shining with eager expectancy. She was a little
vain, and as she settled herself among her cushions and saw
Aunt Luna's evident admiration, she asked:

“Do I look nice, Aunt Luna? Do I make a pretty picture?
I hope so, for Mrs. Churchill is an arterist, you
know, and 'preciates such things.”

Aunt Luna's reply was satisfactory, and after making
some change in the adjustment of the shawl on the arm
of her chair, and lifting her dress so as to show her highheeled
slipper with its scarlet rosette, Annie was ready
for her visitor. Nor had she long to wait ere a step was

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heard on the stairs, and Aunt Luna opened the door to
Edna. Jack had said she was young and small, but neither
Aunt Luna nor Annie was prepared for any one so very young
looking and so small as the little lady who asked if Mr. Heyford
lived there, and announced herself as Mrs. Churchill.

“Yes, he do live here,” a blithe voice replied, and Edna
walked straight up to the chair whence the voice came, and
bending over the little girl kissed her tenderly, saying:

“And you are Annie, I know.”

“And you are Mrs. Churchill,” Annie said, winding her
arms around Edna's neck. “Jack said I'se sure to love
you, and I know it, without his saying so.”

That was their introduction to each other, and they grew
familiar very fast, so that before lunch was ready, Annie had
told Edna how funny it seemed to think her a big married
woman, and how glad she was she had come, and how sure
she was to love her.

“I think I begin to know what Aunt Luna meant by
God's making it up to me,” she said, after a moment's
silence, during which she had been holding and caressing
Edna's hand.

Edna looked inquiringly at her, and she continued:

“I was so sorry about Georgie,—that's sister, you know.
You seen her, Jack said.”

“Yes.”

And Edna gave a little shiver as she recalled the face
which had looked so coldly and proudly upon her.

It had evidently never looked thus to this little child, who
went on:

“I cried so hard when she didn't come, and was kind of
mad at Heaven, I guess, and Aunt Luna talked and said
how He'd make it up some way, if I was good, and so He
sent me you, though it's funny you didn't go back with that
poor man. He was your beau, wasn't he?”

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“Yes, my husband,” Edna faltered, adding: “I was sick,
hurt, you know.”

She could not explain why she had not gone with her
husband's body, as it seemed natural that she should have
done. Neither did Annie wait for any explanation, but
went on talking in her old-fashioned way, which greatly surprised
Edna, who was not much accustomed to children.
Annie was an odd mixture of childish simplicity and
womanly maturity. From having lived all her life with no
other companions than grown-up people, she was in some
respects much older than her years, and astonished Edna
with her shrewd remarks and her mature ways of thinking.
Georgie was the theme of which she never tired, and Edna
found herself feeling more lenient toward the haughty
woman whom she had instinctively disliked. There must
be something good in her, or this little child would not love
her so devotedly.

“The bestest sister and the beautifulest,” Annie said, and
when Edna, who had gathered from Jack that it was nearly
two years since Georgie had been in Chicago, remarked that
she should hardly suppose Annie could remember how she
looked, Annie replied: “Oh yes, I 'members 'stinctly, or
thinks I do. Any way, I has her picture and her letters;
they are so nice. I want to show you one.”

She touched a little bell on the table beside her, and
summoning Luna from the kitchen, bade her bring the portfolio
which held sister's letters.

“There they are; read any of them,” she said.

And more to please the child than from curiosity, Edna
did read one of the notes, bearing date six or seven months
before, and as she read she felt a growing interest and even
liking for Georgie Burton, who, however cold and proud she
might be to strangers, showed a deep interest in Annie's
well-being.

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One thing struck Edna forcibly, and that was the hope Georgie
expressed that her dear little sister would grow up truthful,
and break herself of the habit she had of sometimes equivocating.
At Annie's request Edna read the letter aloud, and
when she had finished it she saw that Annie's face was
crimson with a look of sorrow and shame.

“I didn't know as 'twas that one,” she said, “and I don't
want you to hate me. I did use to tell lies, oh, so many”—
and the voice sank to a whisper—“and mother spanked
me once and wrote it to Georgie, and told me how wicked
it was, and I do try not to now, so much, though Jack says
I will romance a little, that's what he calls it, meaning, you
know, that I made up some. It's my blood; I heard Jack
tell mother so. Bad blood, he said, though that time I cut
my finger so and bleeded so much, it looked like Jack's did
when he had the nose-bleed.”

She had taken the matter literally, and Edna could not
repress a smile at her interpretation of bad blood, while she
began to wonder how much of this same blood, if any, was
in Jack Heyford's veins. Georgie was only his half-sister
she knew, while Annie was still further removed, although
she called him brother. Any questions, however, which she
might have put to Annie with regard to the relationship,
were prevented by the appearance of Luna with the lunch.

It was a very tempting lunch, and Edna felt her lost appetite
returning when she saw the oysters fried to just the
brown she liked, the slices of rich baked ham, the delicate
rolls, home-made and fresh from the oven, the creamy
butter, the pot of raspberry jam, and the steaming chocolate
which Annie liked so much and was occasionally allowed to
drink. A dish of apples and oranges with clusters of rich
purple grapes completed the bill of fare, and Annie proved
herself a very competent little hostess, as she did the honors
of the table and urged the good things upon Edna, who enjoyed
it nearly as much as Annie herself, and forgot in part

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the dark shadow which had fallen upon her life. As if they
had been princes lunching in some palatial mansion, old
Luna waited upon them, showing a skill and readiness
which rather surprised Edna until she heard from the negress
herself that she had been a house servant in her late mistress's
family in St. Augustine, Florida, that her duties had
been wholly confined to the dining-room and its appointments
until three years since, when she came to Mrs. Heyford.

Since then, to use her own words, “she has done little of
everything, tend here, tend there, bake, and wash, and iron,
and do what only low-lived trash does at home.”

She seemed a very capable, intelligent woman, and
evidently regarded “Master Jack and Miss Annie” with
feelings amounting almost to adoration. Of Georgie she
said but little, and that little showed conclusively her
opinion of a young lady “who would turn her back on her
own flesh and blood, and never come a nigh even when they
sickened and died, just because they was poor and couldn't
give her all the jimcracks she wanted.”

“She was here oncet, two years or so ago,” she said to
Edna, who, after lunch, went with her to the kitchen for a
moment. “She staid about three weeks, and seemed to
think it was such a piece of condescension on her part to do
even that. And we waited on her as if she'd been a queen,
and Master Jack's bill for the ices, and creams, and fruit,
and carriages, which he got for her was awful, and pinched
us for three months or more. I must say though that she
took wonderfully to Miss Annie. Never seen anything like
it. Don't understand it, no how, and 'taint none of my
business if I did.”

Here Aunt Luna broke off abruptly, and Edna went back
to Annie, to whom she gave the first lesson in drawing.
Annie bade fair to prove an apt pupil, and Edna felt all her
old ambition and love for the work coming back as she

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directed the child's hand, and then with a few rapid curves
and lines made a little sketch of her pupil's face. The likeness
was perfect, and Annie screamed with delight as she
took it in her hand and inspected it more closely.

“It looks some like Jack,” she said, “but none like
Georgie. I wish I was like her, but Jack says I'm most like
my father.”

“How long has he been dead?” Edna asked, and Annie
replied:

“Oh, ever so many years; before I was born, I guess.
I never 'member him.”

Edna laughed heartily at this characteristic reply, and as
the afternoon was drawing to a close, she bade her pupil
good-by, promising to come again the next day if Annie felt
equal to another lesson so soon.

Regularly each day after this Edna went to Annie Heyford,
who improved rapidly and evinced almost as much
talent for drawing as Edna herself. Jack, who sometimes
came in while Edna was there, became greatly interested
and tried to secure other pupils for Edna. But his immediate
friends were mostly too poor to incur any additional
expense, while the ladies whom he only knew as he served
them behind the counter did not care to patronize a total
stranger who had no recommendation save that given her
by her enthusiastic admirer, Jack. And so poor Edna was
not making money very fast, and Jack was contemplating
taking lessons himself by way of adding a little to her store,
when an event occurred which changed the whole tenor of
Edna's life and drove her to seek a home elsewhere than in
Chicago. Without a shadow of warning, Mrs. Dana was
suddenly smitten with paralysis, and after three days of
silent suffering, died, leaving her five children to such care
as the motherless poor can find. For a week or two Edna
devoted herself to them entirely, and then the father startled
her with an offer of marriage, saying, by way of excuse for

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his haste, that he must have a housekeeper, that he preferred
her to any one he knew, and that in order to save talk they
might as well be married then if she was willing.

Edna did not leave his house at once as some would have
done, for she knew he meant well, though he had erred
greatly in his judgment of her. Firmly, but kindly, she declined
his offer, and then again stunned and bewildered, sat
down to think what she should do next, and as she thought,
her heart began to go out longingly for that old house by the
graveyard. It was her home, the only one she had ever known,
and Aunt Jerusha, with all her peculiarities, had many excellent
traits of character, and would perhaps be glad to see
her by this time.

Since that first letter, no communication whatever had
passed between them, and Edna did not know how much
Aunt Jerry might have softened toward her. As she could
no longer remain with Mr. Dana, and as she could not afford
to board elsewhere, and would not accept of the home which
Jack Heyford offered her temporarily, it seemed that the
only thing left for her was to go back to Aunt Jerry until
some better situation presented itself to her. Jack himself
advised it, after he found she would not stay with him, and
so Edna bade adieu to Chicago, and with a sad heart turned
her face toward Aunt Jerry, feeling many misgivings with regard
to her reception the nearer she came to home.