as they drove up. Aunt Clara telegraphed this morning, but it wasn't
delivered."

"How long they goin' to stay?"

"I don't know."

Penrod ceased to rub his shining face, and thoughtfully tossed the towel
through the bathroom door. "Uncle John won't try to make 'em come
back home, I guess, will he?" (Uncle John was Aunt Clara's husband, a
successful manufacturer of stoves, and his lifelong regret was that he
had not entered the Baptist ministry.) "He'll let 'em stay here quietly,
won't he?"

"What ARE you talking about?" demanded Margaret, turning from her
mirror. "Uncle John sent them here. Why shouldn't he let them stay?"

Penrod looked crestfallen. "Then he hasn't taken to drink?"

"Certainly not!" She emphasized the denial with a pretty peal of soprano
laughter.

"Then why," asked her brother gloomily, "why did Aunt Clara look so
worried when she got here?"

"Good gracious! Don't people worry about anything except somebody's
drinking? Where did you get such an idea?"

"Well," he persisted, "you don't KNOW it ain't that."