“Next time you’ll cry,” she gasped. “I’ll get a bigger whip.”

“I don’t care how big a whip you get,” Marcia said coldly. “Just don’t touch me with your hands, if you please.”

She stalked upstairs triumphantly in spite of the red whip marks across her cheek and arms. This she did mind, for now everyone at school would know that she, a big girl of nearly twelve, was still getting whippings. Everyone would make fun of her.

When could they visit Grandma, they begged their father, trying not to seem too eager or She would find a way to stop them completely. Papa gruffly told them whenever their mother gave permission.

His wife tightened her lips and cast her pale cold eyes around the three with a look of satisfaction.

“No sense in their picking up bad manners again,” She said. “I’ve had a time breaking them of all the bad habits their grandmother taught them, and their Aunt Lois and, goodness knows, who all. They only want to carry tales. If their grandma wanted them around she’d have sent for them before. Nobody wants three young ones around; oh, no, they leave that kind of dirty work to me.”

Papa was fidgety between his wife’s complaint and the steadfast accusing gaze of his daughters.

“It’s her place to call on me first,” She went on in a thin fretful tone. “Harry, I’m surprised you aren’t offended by her not calling.”

“That’s right,” acknowledged Papa, glad of a reasonable stand. “She ought to call on us first.”

“Why?” asked Marcia.

Her stepmother threw up her hands.

“There! That’s the back talk I get all day from these girls!”

Papa was glad to get out of the house on pretext of mowing the lawn. But Grandma’s presence in town had its effect on him, too. Every night he told trivial anecdotes about things that happened long ago on Hodge Street, cautiously sifted recollections of episodes in Grandma’s life, expressions she used, samples of her generosity and good nature, with head-shakings over her business innocence and how often his advice had saved her. His wife listened silently and clamped her jaw grimly when finally, to no one’s surprise but his own, Papa announced that, disagreeable as the task was, he supposed he owed it to the old lady to give her the benefit of his advice in her present undertaking.

“I might as well go down after supper and get it over with,” he said, lowering his eyes to hide the sparkle of eagerness. “The old lady will think it funny if I don’t drop in for a talk, and nobody else can handle her the way I can. Besides,” he was inspired to add, “when she goes I’ll probably come into quite a lot of property because she always claimed she’d leave it to me.”

“How much has she got?” his wife asked with interest. “We could get a machine, maybe. We could go on a tour. Why don’t you find out?”