"Try it!" cried the brother, already laughing at her fierce show of
spirit; yet to tempt her audacity he thrust his fingers through her
short curls and wagged her head playfully.

She did not resent it; she could resent nothing Hallam ever did save
that morbid talk of his. She had been fighting with this spirit ever
since she could remember, and their brief "tussle" over, she crept
closer to him along the old stone wall and begged:--

"Cleena has tied the burros out to graze in the weeds, and that will be
their breakfast, and while we're waiting for ours, I wish you'd tell me
all you know about 'Spite House.' I've heard it, of course, but it's all
mixed up in my mind, and I don't see just where that cousin Archibald
comes in."

"Oh, he comes in easily enough. He's a descendant of old Jacob Ingraham
as well as of the house of Kaye. I believe it was in this way: our
great-grandfather Thomas Kaye and Jacob were brothers-in-law, and there
was some trouble about money matters."

"Seems to me all the mean, hateful troubles _are_ about money. I don't
see why it was ever made."

"Well, they had such trouble anyway. Great-grandfather had just built
Fairacres, and had spent a great deal to beautify the grounds. He was a
pretty rich man, I fancy, and loved to live in a great whirl of society
and entertain lots of people and all that. He was especially fond of the
view from the front of the house and had cut away some of the trees for
'vistas' and 'outlooks' and 'views.' There were no mills on the Ardsley
then. They came in our own grandfather's time. It was just a beautiful,
shimmering river--"

"Hal, you're a poet!"

"Never," said the boy, with a blush.

"But you are. You tell things so I can just see them. I can see that
shimmering river this instant, in my mind, with my eyes shut. I can see
boats full of people sailing on it, and hear music and laughter and
everything lovely."

"Who's the poet now?"

"I'm not. But go on."

"It seems that old Mr. Ingraham thought he had been cheated by
great-grandfather--"

"Likely enough he had. Else I don't see where he got all that money to
do things."

"But, missy, he was _our_ relative. He was a _Kaye_."

"There might be good Kayes and bad Kayes, mightn't there?"

"Amy, you're too honest for comfort. You may think a spade's a spade,
but you needn't always mention it."

"Go on with the story. In a few minutes Cleena will call us to our
'frugal repast,' like the poor