up the lamp," John said.

The tinkle of Helen's cup and saucer had the clearness of a bell in the
quiet room, and she moved more stealthily. Miriam paused as she spread
butter on the toast.

"This house is full of dead people," she whispered. "If you begin to
think about them--John, you're not going, are you?"

"Only to draw the curtains. Yes, here's the rain."

"And soon Notya will be on the sea," Helen said, listening to the sounds
of storm.

"And I hope," Miriam added on a rich burst of laughter, "that Uncle
Alfred will be sea-sick. Oh, wouldn't he look queer!" She flourished the
knife. "Can't we be merry when we have the chance? Now that she's gone,
why should the house still feel full of her? It isn't fair!"

"You're dripping butter on the floor," Helen said.

"Make your old toast yourself, then!"

"It's not only Notya," Helen went on, as she picked up the knife. "It's
the Pinderwells and their thoughts, and the people who lived here before
them. Their thoughts are in the walls and they come out when the house
is quiet."

"Then let us make a noise!" Miriam cried. "Tomorrow's Saturday, and
Daniel will come up. Shall we ask him to stay? It would make more live
people in the house."

"If he stays, I'm not going to have Rupert in my room again. He talks in
his sleep."

"It's better than snoring," Helen said.

"Awful to marry a man who snores," Miriam remarked. "Uncle Alfred does.
I heard him."

"You're not thinking of marrying him?" John asked.

"No. I don't like the little man," she said incisively. "He gave me his
card as though he'd met me in a train. In case we needed him! I've
thrown it into Mrs. Pinderwell's desk." She looked frowningly at the
fire. "But he liked me," she said, throwing up her head and defying the
silent criticism of the company. "Yes, he did, but I hadn't enough
time."

"That's better than too much," Helen said shrewdly, and stretched her
stockinged feet to the bars. "Thank you for the tea, and now let us wash
up."

"You're scorching," Miriam said, and no one moved. The lamplight had
driven the shadows further back, and the room was the more peaceful for
the cry of the wind and the hissing of the rain.

"Rupert will get wet," Helen said.

"Poor lad!" John mocked drowsily over his pipe.

"And he doesn't know about our father," Miriam said from her little
stool. "Our father, who may be in Heaven."

"That's where Notya is afraid he is," Helen sighed remembering her
step