hundred dollars for one cat—for, after all, Jack blames the whole on the cat, an’ he didn’t hit it, even then.” 

 Lucinda did not answer. 

 “But if the boy settles down now I shan’t mind payin’ the three—Where are you goin’?” 

 For Lucinda was walking out of the room. 

 “I’m goin’ to the door,” said she raspingly. “The bell’s ringin’.” 

 After a minute or two she came back. 

 “Telegram!” she announced, handing the yellow envelope over. 

 Aunt Mary put on her glasses, opened it, and read: 

 Cook has blood poison. Sues for a thousand. Probable amputation. 

 STEBBINS. 

 Aunt Mary dropped the paper with a gasp. 

 Lucinda looked at her with interest. 

 “It’s that same arm again,” said Aunt Mary, “just as I thought it was settled for!” Her eyes seemed to fairly crackle with indignation. “Why don’t she put it in a sling an’ have a little patience?” 

 Lucinda took the telegram and read it. 

 “’Pears like she can’t,” she commented, in a tone like a buzz saw; “’pears like it’s goin’ to be took off.” 

 Aunt Mary reached forth her hand for the telegram and after a second reading shook her head in a way that, if her companion had been a globe-trotter, would have brought matadores and Seville to the front in her mind in that instant. 

 “I declare,” she said, “seems like I had enough on my mind without a cook, too. What’s to be done now? I only know one thing! I ain’t goin’ to pay no thousand dollars this week for no arm that wasn’t worth but three hundred last week. Stands to reason that there ain’t no reason in that. I guess you’d better bring me my desk, Lucinda; I’m goin’ to write to Mr. Stebbins, an’ I’m goin’ to write to Jack, and I’m 

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