ithdrawn in a body,
and the school was closed for want of patronage. And now my wife tells
me she has returned to open a school in Winchester. You will meet them
at dinner to-day; my wife asked them."

"That's strange, isn't it?"

"Yes, a most unfortunate complication for me, their being where my wife
can--and she will--pump Mrs. Honey. It was to get the chance to do that,
I fully believe, which made my wife invite them; hence the absolute need
of my having some plausible story with which to satisfy Edna. You, by
reason of your age and respectability, can better do this than anyone
else."

"But, 'pon my soul, Rutherford," expostulated Plowden, "much as I would
like to serve you, I'm afraid I can't. What can I say to your wife?"

"You can tell her that the girl was yours; that to hide her from your
wife I secretly put her into the school, for you, under an assumed
name."

"But what will my wife say--she who never suspected that I had a wife
before her, much less a child?"

"Oh, it will be all right after Christmas. I can then square myself with
my wife, and you can make a clean breast of it to yours."

"Why don't _you_ make a clean breast of it at once? It happened before
your marriage, you know."

"Oh, as for that, it would be all the same to Edna, if it had happened
in a previous existence. But that isn't the question. It is a
professional secret. I am under a pledge to an old client of mine for
whom I acted. He is now in Boston, and I'm going to telegraph him that
domestic peace demands my release from my pledge. So you see, Plowden,
that if you _can_ stave off my wife's suspicions until after Christmas,
I will--"

"What?"

"Stave off Mrs. Plowden Number One."

"I'll do my best," groaned Plowden, "though the Lord has not gifted me
with the art of deception."

"Inspiration will spring from necessity. Remember, it will bring us a
peaceful Christmas and you--relief from Number One."

Together they entered the telegraph office, and Rutherford sent off his
message to Boston.

II.

THE AFTERNOON BEFORE CHRISTMAS.

Miss Helen Fithian, a poor, elderly relative of Edna's, was spending the
season--much more than the holidays--with the Rutherfords. She and Edna
were sitting together in the library that afternoon, while the perturbed
Plowden was learning his hard lesson of enforced duplicity. Mrs.
Rutherford was in no humor for conversation. Miss Fithian nestled into
the depths of a big arm-chair in a sha