with him, the week before she left.

It was that very night that Aunt Maria had the telegram. She paid the
boy, then she opened it with trembling fingers. Her brother Henry and
Maria were with her on the porch. It was a warm night, and Aunt Maria
wore an ancient muslin. The south wind fluttered the ruffles on that
and the yellow telegram as she read. She was silent a moment, with
mouth compressed.

"Well," said her brother Henry, inquiringly.

Aunt Maria's face flushed and paled. She turned to Maria.

"Well," she said, "you've got a little sister."

"Good!" said Uncle Henry. "Ever so much more company for you than a
little brother would have been, Maria."

Maria was silent. She trembled and felt cold, although the night was
so warm.

"Weighs seven pounds," said Aunt Maria, in a hard voice.

Maria returned home a week from that day. She travelled alone from
Boston, and her father met her in New York. He looked strange to her.
He was jubilant, and yet the marks of anxiety were deep. He seemed
very glad to see Maria, and talked to her about her little sister in
an odd, hesitating way.

"Her name is Evelyn," said Harry.