"Your SISTER!" Into Mr. Smith's face had come a look of startled
surprise--a look almost of terror. "But there weren't but three--that
is, I thought--I understood from Mr. Chalmers that there were but
three Blaisdells, two brothers, and one sister--you, yourself."

"Oh, poor Maggie ain't a Blaisdell," explained the little dressmaker,
with a smile. "She's just Maggie Duff, father Duff's daughter by his
first wife, you know. He married our mother years ago, when we
children were little, so we were brought up with Maggie, and always
called her sister; though, of course, she really ain't any relation to
us at all."

"Oh, I see. Yes, to be sure. Of course!" Mr. Smith seemed oddly
thoughtful. He appeared to be settling something in his mind. "She
isn't a Blaisdell, then."

"No, but she's so near like one, and she's a splendid cook, and---"

"Well, I shan't send him to Maggie," cut in Mrs. James D. Blaisdell
with emphasis. "Poor Maggie's got quite enough on her hands, as it is,
with that father of hers. Besides, she isn't a Blaisdell at all."

"And she couldn't come and cook and take care of us near so much,
either, could she," plunged in Benny, "if she took this man ter feed?"

"That will do, Benny," admonished his mother, with nettled dignity.
"You forget that children should be seen and not heard."

"Yes'm. But, please, can't I be heard just a minute for this? Why