set in the crinkled, rust-coloured face.

"I want her!" The words, spoken close to her shoulder caused Mary to
drop the loaf and turn in affright.

"I want--her!"

"Gawd! Aunt Becky!" gasped Mary, dropping, like a cloak, the thin veneer
of all that Ridge House had done for her. "Gawd! Aunt Becky, I done
thought you was--dead and all. I ain't seen you in ages. Won't you set?"

The woman stretched a claw-like hand forth and laid it on the shoulder
of the girl.

"Don't you argify with me--Mary Allan. I want her."

There seemed to be no doubt in Mary's mind as to whom Aunt Becky wanted.

"Sister Angela is at prayer, Aunt Becky," she whispered, trying to
escape from the clutch upon her shoulder.

"Mary Allan--go tell her I want her. Go!" There was that in Becky's tone
that commanded obedience. Mary started to the hall, her feet clattering
as she ran toward the chapel on the floor above.

Becky followed, more slowly. She got as far as the opened door of the
living room, then she paused, glanced about, and went in.

There are some rooms that repel; others that seem to rush forward with
warm welcome. The living room at Ridge House was one that made a