One of the other front
doors opened into the sitting-room, but was barred with a tall
bureau. The third let into a square room devoted to the lumber
accumulations of the house. A bar and shelves for decanters remained
there, but these William Sebastian had never permitted to be used
since his name was painted on the sign.
Mrs. Sebastian felt a desire to confuse the outgoing woman by the
three doors and imprison her in the old store room.
"I don't think the child's hers," exclaimed Mrs. Sebastian.
"Thee isn't Solomon," observed the Quaker, twinkling at his wife.
"Thee cannot judge who the true mother may be."
"She shouldn't got in here if I'd had the keeping of the door,"
continued Mrs. Sebastian. "I may not be Solomon, but I think I could
keep the varmints out of my own chicken house."
Grandma Padgett set her glasses in a perplexed stare at the door.
"She didn't let us say good-by to Fairy Carrie," exclaimed aunt
Corinne indignantly, "and kept her face hid away all the time so she
couldn't look at us. I'd hate to have such a ma!"
"She'll whip the poor little thing for running off with us, when she
gets her away," said Robert Day, listening for doleful sounds.
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