They strolled down the street together until they reached Keturah Smiley’s. Mermaid commanded her uncle to enter. Keturah was making a batch of cookies in the kitchen.
“Come in, Hosea,” she said, cordially. “Child, if Dickie Hand comes here this evening, do for goodness’ sake make the boy eat yesterday’s crullers so we can have a taste of these cookies ourselves. I declare, Hosea, I don’t know what my own cake tastes like any longer.”
“I do,” said Ho Ha, looking at her attentively.
“Have one,” said Keturah, slightly flustered by the look he gave her. Could he have learned anything? Ho Ha fell silent a moment, and then after several mouthfuls said: “You were always a great hand for relationships, Keturah. Can you tell me who this cousin was that’s left me some money?”
Miss Smiley faced away from him and began energetically stowing her batch in a cake box.
“I don’t know, Hosea,” she answered. “I never could keep track of your relations.”
“I don’t believe this cousin was a relation,” said Ha Ha. “I never heard of any relations except poor relations. Most likely this was some conscience-stricken person, repenting of evil gains——”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Miss Smiley with an emphasis and a touch of indignation that seemed unnecessary. “She had as clear a conscience as some others, I guess.”
“Oh, so ’twas a woman?” observed Ho Ha, innocently. “Well, now, that’s funny. I can’t think of any woman——”
“I didn’t say ’twas a woman,” parried Keturah. “She or he or whoever it was probably had more than she—he—knew what to do with. Left to the next of kin. It’s a common thing.”