Sylvia sniffed contemptuously. "That Johnny Soule!" said she. "He's
half Canadian. Father was French. I wouldn't take any stock in what
he said."

"Lucinda never did it," said Mrs. Ayres. "I went to school with her."

Lucy sobbed again wildly, then she laughed loudly. Her mother turned
and looked at her. "Lucy," said she, "you go straight back up-stairs
and put this out of your mind, or you'll be down sick. Go straight
up-stairs and lie down, and I'll bring you up some of that nerve
medicine Dr. Wallace put up for you. Maybe you can get to sleep."

Lucy sobbed and laughed again. "Stop right where you are," said her
mother, with a wonderful, firm gentleness--"right where you are. Put
this thing right out of your mind. It's nothing you can help."

Lucy sobbed and laughed again, and this time her laugh rang so wildly
that the grocer's boy looked at her with rising alarm. He admired
Lucy. "I say," he said. "Maybe she ain't dead, after all. I heard all
this, but you never can tell anything by what folks say. You had
better mind your ma and put it all out of your head." The grocer's
boy and Lucy had been in the same class at school. She had never
noticed him, but he had loved her as from an immeasurable distance.
Both were very young.

Lucy lifted a beautiful, frightened face, and stared at him. "Isn't
it so?" she cried.

"I dare say it ain't. You had better mind your ma."