"Mrs. Roberts is very ill. I understand," persisted Mr.
Patterson, nobly resolved to do what he had come to do, "dying,
in fact, and--"

"Jane ill! Jane dying!" exclaimed Miss Rosetta. "Why, she was
the healthiest girl I ever knew! But then I've never seen her,
nor heard from her, since she got married fifteen years ago. I
dare say her husband was a brute and neglected her, and she's
pined away by slow degrees. I've no faith in husbands. Look at
Charlotte! Everybody knows how Jacob Wheeler used her. To be
sure, she deserved it, but--"

"Mrs. Roberts' husband is dead," said Mr. Patterson. "Died about
two months ago, I understand, and she has a little baby six
months old, and she thought perhaps Mrs. Wheeler would take it
for old times' sake--"

"Did Charlotte ask you to call and tell me this?" demanded Miss
Rosetta eagerly.

"No; she just told me what was in the letter. She didn't mention
you; but I thought, perhaps, you ought to be told--"

"I knew it," said Miss Rosetta in a tone of bitter assurance. "I
could have told you so. Charlotte wouldn't even let me know that
Jane was ill. Charlotte would be afraid I would want to get the
baby, seeing that Jane and I were such intimate friends long ago.
And who has a better right to it than me, I should like to know?
Ain't I the oldest? And haven't I had experience in bringing up