“This is all I can think of.  Before we can sell that land or any of our land we must have the consent of all the living heirs or else the title isn’t good, as you very well know.  Now Emily Leonard and her descendants are the only heirs missing.  This man says that the child, Mary, is Emily Leonard’s grandchild and that Emily and her son, the child’s father, are dead.  That would mean that if we wanted to sell that land we’d be obliged to have the signatures of my sisters and my nephew, Stanley, and myself, and also of the guardian of this child.  Of course Hapgood will say he’s the child’s guardian.  Do you suppose, Mrs. Smith, that he’s going to sign any deed that gives you that land?  Not much!  He’ll say it’s for the child’s best interests that the land be not sold now, because it contains valuable clay or whatever it is he thinks he has found there.  Then he’ll offer to buy the land himself and he’ll be willing enough to sign the deed then.”

“But we might not be,” interposed Miss Maria.

“I should say not,” returned her brother emphatically, “but he’d probably make a lot of trouble for us and be constantly appealing to us on the ground that we ought to sell the land for the child’s good—­or he might even say for Stanley’s good or our good, the brazen, persistent animal.”

“Brother,” remonstrated Miss Maria.  “You forget that you may be speaking of the uncle of our little cousin.”

“Little cousin nothing!” retorted Mr. Clark fiercely.  “It’s all very nice for the Mortons to find that that charming girl who takes care of the Belgian baby is a relative.  This is a very different proposition!  However, I suppose you girls—­” meaning by this term the two ladies of more than seventy—­“won’t be happy unless you have the youngster here, so you might as well send for her, but you’d better have the length of her visit distinctly understood.”

“We might say a week,” suggested Miss Eliza hesitatingly.

“Say a week, and say it emphatically,” approved her brother, and trotted off to his study, leaving the ladies to compose, with Mrs. Smith’s help, a note that would not be so cordial that Brother would forbid its being sent, but that would nevertheless give a hint of their kindly feeling to the forlorn child, so roughly cared for by her strange uncle.

Mary Smith went to them, and made a visit that could not be called a success in any way.  She was painfully conscious of the difference between her clothes and the Ethels’ and Dorothy’s and Della’s, though why theirs seemed more desirable she could not tell, since her own were far more elaborate.  The other girls wore middy blouses constantly, even the older girls, Helen and Margaret, while her dresses were of silk or some other delicate material and adorned with many ruffles and much lace.

She was conscious, too, of a difference between her manners and theirs, and she could not understand why, in her heart, she liked theirs better, since they were so gentle as to seem to have no spirit at all, according to her views.  She was always uncomfortable when she was with them and her efforts to be at ease caused her shyness to go to the other extreme and made her manners rough and impertinent.