* * * * *

The third morning after Miss Clegg’s trip to town she astonished her neighbor by tapping on the latter’s kitchen window at the early hour of seven in the morning.  Mrs. Lathrop was getting breakfast, and her surprise caused her to jump unduly.

“Well, Susan!” she said, opening the door, “what ever is the—­”

“Matter!  Nothin’ ain’t the matter, only I’ve had a letter from the monument man.  It come last night, ‘n’ the minister took it out o’ the post-office ‘n’ sent it over by little ’Liza Em’ly when she come with the milk this mornin’.  I dunno whether to thank the minister for bein’ so kind or whether to ask him to mind his own business.  It’s got ‘Important’ on the corner, ‘n’ sometimes I don’t go to the post-office for two days at a time, but jus’ the same it strikes me ’t I ain’t altogether in favor o’ the minister’s carryin’ my mail home with him any time he feels so inclined.  If I’d ‘a’ married him, I never ’d ‘a’ allowed him to interfere with my affairs, ‘n’ ’s long ’s I didn’t marry him I don’t see no good reason for his doin’ so now.”

Susan paused and looked at the letter which she held in her hand.  Mrs. Lathrop slid one of the kitchen chairs up behind her, and she sat down, still looking at the letter.

“It’s from the monument man,” she said again, “‘n’ I don’t know what ever I shall do about it, I’m sure.”

Mrs. Lathrop was all attention.

“It’s about the lion.  He says ’t he’s been ‘n’ took some black chalk ‘n’ marked around under him ‘Sacred to the memory of Blank Clegg,’ ‘n’ he says ’t it looks so noble ’t he’s had an offer for the monument ‘n’ he wants me to come in ‘n’ see it afore he sells it to—­to some one else.”

There was a short silence, broken at last by Mrs. Lathrop.

“Your father’s name wa’n’t ‘Blank,’” she said; “it was ‘Henry.’”

Susan knit her brows.

“I know, ‘n’ that’s one thing ’t ‘s been troublin’ me.  It’s written out in good plain letters—­’Blank Clegg’—­’n’ I’ve been tryin’ ‘n’ tryin’ to think what I could ‘a’ said to ‘a’ made him suppose ’t it could ‘a’ been ‘Blank.’  That ’d be the last name in the wide world for anybody to name anybody else, I sh’d suppose, ‘n’ I can’t see for the life o’ me why that monument man sh’d ‘a’ hit on it for father.  I’m cert’nly mighty glad that he’s only marked it on in black chalk ‘n’ not chopped it out o’ the bottom o’ the lion.  O’ course ’f he ’d chopped it out I’d ‘a’ had to ‘a’ taken it an’ it’d jus’ made me the laughin’-stock o’ the whole community.  I know lots o’ folks ’t are plenty mean enough ’s to say ‘t that lion was weepin’ because I didn’t know my own father’s name.”

Mrs. Lathrop looked sober.

“So I guess I’ve got to go to town by to-day’s ten o’clock.  I ain’t no intention o’ takin’ the lion, but I shall like to stand off a little ways ‘n’ look at the part o’ the name ’t ’s spelt right.  Later maybe I’ll visit a few asylums—­I ain’t sure.  But anyway I thought I’d jus’ run over ‘n’ let you know ‘t I was goin’, ‘n’ ask you if there’s anythin’ ’t I can get f’r you while I’m in town.”