"Then you might as well tell it to us," was Adelaide's sage rejoinder. "Come, mamma, do, I'm dying of curiosity."
"It can be told in a few words," said Mrs. Dinsmore, in a tone of wearied impatience. "Five years ago Horace went on a visit to New Orleans, met an orphan girl of large fortune, fell in love with her, and persuaded her to marry him. The thing was clandestine, of course; for they were mere boy and girl. They lived together for two or three months, then her guardian, who had been away, came home, found it out, and was furious.
"He carried the girl off, nobody knew where; your father sent Horace North to college, and some months afterward we heard that the girl was dead and had left a baby. She's four years old now; the guardian is dead, and your father is bringing her home to live.
"There, I've given you the whole story, and don't intend to be bothered with any more questions."
"But, mamma," burst out the children, who had listened with breathless interest, "you haven't told us her name, or when they are coming?"
"Her name is Elsie, and they will be here in about a week. There, now, not another question. I'm bored to death with the subject."
"Four years old; why, she's just a baby," remarked Adelaide to her sisters. "Let's go tell mammy the news, and that she's going to have another baby to take care of."
"No, she's not," said Mrs. Dinsmore sharply; "the child has a mammy of her own that's coming with her."
"What relation is she to us, Ade?" asked Lora.
"Who? the black woman? None to me, I'm sure," laughed Adelaide.