{Illustration: THE “YOUNG MAN WHO SOLD TICKETS” APPEARS AT THE DOOR.}
The man who was sorting his papers at the table, turned an attentive eye and ear toward the children. But neither Bobaday nor Corinne considered that he broke up the family privacy. They scarcely noticed him.
“Grandma,” murmured Carrie vaguely, turning her eyes toward their guardian by the window.
“Yes, that's Grandma,” said Bobaday. “But don't you know where your own pa and ma are?”
“Papa,” whispered Carrie, like a baby trying the words. “Mamma. Papa—mamma.”
“Yes, dear,” exclaimed aunt Corinne. “Where do they live? She's big enough to know that if she knows anything.”
“Let's get her to sing a song,” suggested Bobaday. “If she can remember a song, she can remember what happened before they made her sing.”
“That papa?” said Carrie, looking at the stranger by the table.
“No,” returned aunt Corinne, deigning a glance his way. “That's only a gentleman goin' to eat supper here. Sing, Carrie. Now, Bobaday Padgett,” warned aunt Corinne, shooting her whisper behind the curled head, “don't you go and scare her by sayin' anything about that pig-man.”
“Don't you scare her yourself,” returned Robert with a touch of indignation. “You've got her eyes to stickin' out now. Sing a pretty tune, Carrie. Come on, now.”