Elizabeth Ann did not of course for a moment dream that Cousin Molly was thinking any such things about her, but she could not help seeing that Cousin Molly was not any too enthusiastic about taking her in; and she was already feeling terribly forlorn about the sudden, unexpected change in Aunt Frances, who had been so wrapped up in her and now was just as much wrapped up in Aunt Harriet.  Do you know, I am sorry for Elizabeth Ann, and, what’s more, I have been ever since this story began.

Well, since I promised you that I was not going to tell about more tears, I won’t say a single word about the day when the two aunts went away on the train, for there is nothing much but tears to tell about, except perhaps an absent look in Aunt Frances’s eyes which hurt the little girl’s feelings dreadfully.

And then Cousin Molly took the hand of the sobbing little girl and led her back to the Lathrop house.  But if you think you are now going to hear about the Lathrops, you are quite mistaken, for just at this moment old Mrs. Lathrop took a hand in the matter.  She was Cousin Molly’s husband’s mother, and, of course, no relation at all to Elizabeth Ann, and so was less enthusiastic than anybody else.  All that Elizabeth Ann ever saw of this old lady, who now turned the current of her life again, was her head, sticking out of a second-story window; and that’s all that you need to know about her, either.  It was a very much agitated old head, and it bobbed and shook with the intensity with which the imperative old voice called upon Cousin Molly and Elizabeth Ann to stop right there where they were on the front walk.

“The doctor says that what’s the matter with Bridget is scarlet fever, and we’ve all got to be quarantined.  There’s no earthly sense bringing that child in to be sick and have it, and be nursed, and make the quarantine twice as long!”

“But, Mother!” called Cousin Molly, “I can’t leave the child in the middle of the street!”

Elizabeth Ann was actually glad to hear her say that, because she was feeling so awfully unwanted, which is, if you think of it, not a very cheerful feeling for a little girl who has been the hub round which a whole household was revolving.

“You don’t have to!” shouted old Mrs. Lathrop out of her second-story window.  Although she did not add “You gump!” aloud, you could feel she was meaning just that.  “You don’t have to!  You can just send her to the Putney cousins.  All nonsense about her not going there in the first place.  They invited her the minute they heard of Harriet’s being so bad.  They’re the natural ones to take her in.  Abigail is her mother’s own aunt, and Ann is her own first-cousin-once-removed ... just as close as Harriet and Frances are, and much closer than you!  And on a farm and all ... just the place for her!”

“But how under the sun, Mother!” shouted Cousin Molly back, “can I get her to the Putneys’?  You can’t send a child of nine a thousand miles without ...”