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Returning, after the departure of the visitors, to replace the little flannel-wrapped bundle by its mother’s side, she observed tentatively—

“His hair do seem to be red, Susie.”

“’Ees,” returned poor Susie faintly, “his hair be red—like Jim’s.”

“Ye mid ha’ told me that, I think!” exclaimed Mrs. Frizzell, with irrepressible irritation. “I’ve been a-tellin’ everybody as your husband were a dark-haired man. I had to make out a story now about your mother-in-law having red hair. P’r’aps she has?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure. She’s dead long ago, and so is his father. Oh, Mother, how can you make up sich tales?”

“Well, I had to say summat when they axed me. If I were to say as I didn’t know, they’d be sure to guess as things wasn’t all right.”

“But if—if Jim ever do come back?” faltered the girl.

“He’ll not come back—put that out o’ your head,” said Mrs. Frizzell shortly.

The tears rolled down Susie’s face, and her eyes followed her mother’s energetic figure as it moved about the room. Once or twice she opened her lips as though to speak, but her courage failed her. Then, suddenly, the words burst from her—