"WHO'S at the front door?" asked Luella's mother, coming in from the kitchen with a dish-towel in her hand. "I thought I heard the door-bell." "Luella's gone to the door," said her sister from her vantage-point at the crack of the sitting-room door. "It looks to me like a telegraph boy." "It couldn't be, Crete," said Luella's mother impatiently, coming to see for herself. "Who would telegraph now that Hannah's dead?"