rgaret. "I have come about the furniture. Could
you kindly let me in?"

"Yes, Mrs. Wilcox," said the voice, "of course." But after that came
silence. They called again without response. They walked round the house
disconsolately.

"I hope Miss Avery is not ill," hazarded Margaret.

"Well, if you'll excuse me," said Madge, "perhaps I ought to be leaving
you now. The servants need seeing to at the farm. Auntie is so odd at
times." Gathering up her elegancies, she retired defeated, and, as if
her departure had loosed a spring, the front door opened at once.

Miss Avery said, "Well, come right in, Mrs. Wilcox!" quite pleasantly
and calmly.

"Thank you so much," began Margaret, but broke off at the sight of an
umbrella-stand. It was her own.

"Come right into the hall first," said Miss Avery. She drew the curtain,
and Margaret uttered a cry of despair. For an appalling thing had
happened. The hall was fitted up with the contents of the library from
Wickham Place. The carpet had been laid, the big work-table drawn up
near the window; the bookcases filled the wall opposite the fireplace,
and her father's sword--this is what bewildered her particularly--had
been drawn from its scabbard and hung naked amongst the sober volumes.
Miss Avery must have worked for days.

"I'm afraid this isn't what we meant," she began. "Mr. Wilcox and I
never intended the cases to be touched. For instance, these books are my
brother's. We are storing them for him and for my sister, who is abroad.
When you kindly undertook to look after things, we never expected you to
do so much."

"The house has been empty long enough," said the old woman.

Margaret refused to argue. "I dare say we didn't explain," she said
civilly. "It has been a mistake, and very likely our mistake."

"Mrs. Wilcox, it has been mistake upon mistake for fifty years. The
house is Mrs. Wilcox's, and she would not desire it to stand empty any
longer."

To help the poor decaying brain, Margaret said:

"Yes, Mrs. Wilcox's house, the mother of Mr. Charles."

"Mistake upon mistake," said Miss Avery. "Mistake upon mistake."

"Well, I don't know," said Margaret, sitting down in one of her own
chairs. "I really don't know what's to be done." She could not help
laughing.

The other said: "Yes, it should be a merry house enough."

"I don't know--I dare say. Well, thank you very much, Miss Avery. Yes,
that's all right. Delightful."

"There is still the parlour." She went t