"You! I should say not! You don't care to help me in the kitchen or run
errands for me, and the only thing the matter with you now is curiosity!"

That settled Louis, and Teresa went on with her reading. Bending her great
fat form more and more closely over the letter, she became more serious as
she neared the bottom of the fourth page where the writing became so close
and so fine that it was hardly possible to decipher it. When, at last, she
lifted her head, her eyes were full of tears. "Poor, poor little thing!"
she repeated softly.

"Well, what do you think?" said my father.

"What do I think? Why we must send at once and have her come here as soon
as possible, because--"

"Who?" my father interrupted her without ceremony.

"Yes; who? who?" questioned Louis.

"Tell us, father, please," added my sister Rosa, a tall, serious girl of
fifteen.

And as he did not answer us quickly our questions multiplied.

"Patience! Patience!" cried my father; "your turn will come."

"Teresa, you are getting old, and another girl in the house simply means
more work for you and a lot more problems for me. If 'she' (my father had
never been able to reconcile himself to pronounce the name of my mother
since her untimely death)--if 'she' were here I would not hesitate, but to