“What were you reading?” Grandma inquired suspiciously.
“About a man who was killed. They think he was murdered. They found his body——”
“Good gracious, child!” cried Grandma, quite forgetting to shuffle her cards in her dismay. “Don’t you know you are not to read such things? Put that paper down at once, and don’t let me see you touch a newspaper again until you are old enough to know what to read, and what to leave alone.”
Dulcie blushed.
“Miss Hammond says everybody ought to read the newspaper,” she began. “It’s very interesting about that man. Won’t you please let me finish it, Grandma?”
“Certainly not, and don’t argue. Such things are not proper reading for a child of your age. Your father would be very angry if he ever heard of your reading such disgusting stories.”
“Would he?” said Dulcie, and she instantly put down the paper. There was no one in the world whom Dulcie loved as she loved her father.
“Of course he would,” said Mrs. Winslow. “Remember, you are not to look at a newspaper again until I give you permission. What are you rubbing your eyes in that way for, Maud?”
“I’m sleepy,” said Maud. Maud was less afraid of Grandma than any of the others, and if Mrs. Winslow had a favorite among her stepson’s children, it was little curly-headed Maud, who was scarcely more than a baby when the family had arrived from the West five years ago.
Grandma glanced at the clock.