udius Tiberius to recline upon it, but he persistently ignored the
invitation.

"This is jolly enough," said Harlan. "A cosy little supper in our own
house, with a gale blowing outside, the tea kettle singing over the fire,
and a cat purring on the hearth."

"Have you heard Claudius purr?" asked Dorothy, idly.

"Come to think of it, I haven't. Perhaps something is wrong with his
purrer. We'll fix him to-morrow."

From a remote part of the house came twelve faint, silvery tones. The
kitchen clock struck next, with short, quick strokes, followed immediately
by a casual record of the hour from the clock on the mantel beneath Uncle
Ebeneezer's portrait. Then the grandfather's clock in the hall boomed out
twelve, solemn funereal chimes. Afterward, the silence seemed acute.

"The end of the honeymoon," said Dorothy, a little sadly, with a quick,
inquiring look at her husband.

"The end of the honeymoon!" repeated Harlan, gathering her into his arms.
"To-morrow, life begins!"

Several hours later, Dorothy awoke from a dreamless sleep to wonder
whether life was any different from a honeymoon, and if so, how and why.

II

The Day Afterward

By the pitiless light of early morning, the house was even uglier than at
night. With an irreverence essentially modern, Dorothy decided, while she
was dressing, to have all the furniture taken out into the back yard,
where she could look it over at her leisure. She would make a bonfire of
most of it, or, better yet, have it cut into wood for the fireplace. Thus
Uncle Ebeneezer's cumbrous bequest might be quickly transformed into
comfort.

"And," thought Dorothy, "I'll take down that hideous portrait over the
mantel before I'm a day older."

But when she broached the subject to Harlan, she found him unresponsive
and somewhat disinclined to interfere with the existing order of things.
"We'll be here only for the Summer," he said, "so what's the use of
monkeying with the furniture and burning up fifty or sixty beds? There's
plenty of wood in the cellar."

"I don't like the furniture," she pouted.

"My dear," said Harlan, with patronising kindness, "as you grow older,
you'll find lots of things on the planet which you don't like. Moreover,
it'll be quite out of your power to cremate 'em, and it's just as well to
begin adjusting yourself now."

This bit of philosophy irritated Mrs. Carr unbearably. "Do you mean to
say," she demanded, with rising temper, "that you won't