It was the intervention of heaven that released Augusta finally, and at the same time loosed Emma's chains, mercifully flung wide all closed doors for poor Joey Rand, dried Eunice's tears, solaced David, and gave to the unexpecting, unhoping Reba freedom again.
Reba was sitting in her room when her father, one noon, shoved open the door and came in.
"There won't be any need of that hired-girl any more," he exclaimed. "You can tell her to clear out to-morrow. Things are going to be different around here now. There's going to be an end to all this nonsense."
Reba sighed. Must there be more struggle?
"How are you going to manage it, Father?" she asked.
"Oh, you don't think I know what I'm talking about," he replied with some heat. "You don't think that creature downstairs has got to clear out. Well, I do! And she has—she has, I tell you. Read this—read this!" He thrust a letter into Reba's hands.
She lifted it wonderingly. It was from Aunt Augusta. David watched her gloatingly as she drew forth her aunt's letter and unfolded it.
"Oh, how awful!" were her first words.
Dead! Joey Rand dead! And such a death! He had thrown himself out of a second-floor window! Aunt Augusta had seen him, was passing, in fact, just beneath the window on her way to feed the hens. "Joey ought to have been in an asylum anyhow; then such a thing wouldn't have happened." Reba reached the end of the first page and turned the letter over. "But seeing," Aunt Augusta continued, "it has happened, and Emma and I have seen Joey safely across,
