Marie wanted to make a scene and insist on knowing what was in her own mother’s letter; but Mary contented herself with looking superb and haughty and disdainful, and marching out of the room without giving Aunt Jane the satisfaction of even being asked what was in that letter.

But at the table that noon Aunt Jane read it to Father out loud.  So that’s how I came to know just what was in it.  She started first to hand it over to him to read; but as he put out his hand to take it I guess he saw the handwriting, for he drew back quickly, looking red and queer.

“From Mrs. Anderson to you?” he asked.  And when Aunt Jane nodded her head he sat still farther back in his chair and said, with a little wave of his hand, “I never care to read—­other people’s letters.”

Aunt Jane said, “Stuff and nonsense, Charles, don’t be silly!” But she pulled back the letter and read it—­after giving a kind of an uneasy glance in my direction.

Father never looked up once while she was reading it.  He kept his eyes on his plate and the baked beans he was eating.  I watched him.  You see, I knew, by Aunt Jane’s reading the letter to him, that it was something he had got to decide; and when I found out what it was, of course, I was just crazy.  I wanted to go so.  So I watched Father’s face to see if he was going to let me go.  But I couldn’t make out.  I couldn’t make out at all.  It changed—­oh, yes, it changed a great deal as she read; but I couldn’t make out what kind of a change it was at all.

Aunt Jane finished the letter and began to fold it up.  I could see she was waiting for Father to speak; but he never said a word.  He kept right on—­eating beans.

Then Aunt Jane cleared her throat and spoke.

“You will not let her go, of course, Charles; but naturally I had to read the letter to you.  I will write to Mrs. Anderson to-night.”

Father looked up then.

“Yes,” he said quietly; “and you may tell her, please, that Mary will go.”

“Charles!”

Aunt Jane said that.  But I—­I almost ran around the table and hugged him. (Oh, how I wish he was the kind of a father you could do that to!)

“Charles!” said Aunt Jane again.  “Surely you aren’t going to give in so tamely as this to that child and her mother!”

“I’m not giving in at all, Jane,” said Father, very quietly again.  “I am consulting my own wishes in the matter.  I prefer to have her go.”

I ’most cried out then.  Some way, it hurt to have him say it like that, right out—­that he wanted me to go.  You see, I’d begun to think he was getting so he didn’t mind so very much having me here.  All the last two weeks he’d been different, really different.  But more of that anon.  I’ll go on with what happened at the table.  And, as I said, I did feel bad to have him speak like that.  And I can remember now just how the lump came right up in my throat.