"It’s that I’m not a maid," said the pretty widow.

"Not—a—" cried Aunt Mary blankly.

"I’m a widow!" said Janice. "I’m Burnett’s sister."

"Wh—a—at!" cried Aunt Mary. "I didn’t jus’ catch that."

"You see," screamed Jack, "she was afraid to have me entertain you in New
York,—afraid you wouldn’t be properly looked after, Aunt Mary, so she
dressed up for your maid and looked after you herself."

"My heavens alive!"

"Wasn’t she an angel?" he asked.

"But whatever made you take such an interest?" Aunt Mary demanded of
Janice.

Janice rose from her knees and, leaning over the bed, drew the old lady
close in her arms.

"I’ll tell you," she screamed gently. "I loved Jack, and so I loved his
aunt even before I had ever seen her."

Aunt Mary’s joy fairly overflowed at that view of things, and, putting her
hands to either side of the lovely face so close to her own, she kissed it
warmly again and again.

"I always knew you were suthin’ out of the ordinary," she declared