waited to be enlightened. She had divined the moment she saw T.O. that
the girl was unusually disturbed. This was true.

"I've had two letters--the first one came three weeks ago from her
brother. I didn't want to spoil your good time, telling sad things,
so I kept it to myself--Laura Ann, that woman _mothered_ me!"

Laura Ann stood still. "Do you mean Mrs. Camp? Is she--dead?" But the
other did not seem to hear. She ran on in a low, troubled voice.

"She bathed my ankle, and said 'My dear,' and waited on me, when she'd
never set eyes on me in her life before. How did she know but that I was
an--an _impostor_? And she let us have her dear little house to live
in--"

"Yes, yes--oh, yes, she let _me_ live in it!" Laura Ann interposed.
"You ought to have told us she was dead."

"She isn't dead. She's fallen downstairs and broken her hip. The doctor
says it's so bad she won't ever walk again without crutches, her brother
wrote. He said he wanted her to stay and live with him, but she wouldn't
listen to it. She wanted to come home as soon as she possibly could. So
she's coming--he's coming with her, to 'start' her."

T.O. fingered a letter in her hand in a nervous, undecided way, as if
she were half inclined to read it to the other girl. It was not Emmeline
Camp's brother's letter. It had come ten days ago, and she herself knew
it by heart. How many, many times she had read it! She had cried over
the wistful cry in it, and over Amelia's death--for the letter said that
Amelia was dead.