in time for her to be ready to wait at dinner.

"Something doing, something doing," murmured Zeke as he heard the
impetuosity of her approaching step.

"That soup _was_ hot!" she exclaimed defiantly.

"Somebody scald you, ma? I can do him up, whoever he is," said Zeke,
catching up a whip and executing a threatening dance around the dimly
lighted barn.

His mother's snapping eyes looked beyond him. "He said it was cold; but
it was only because he was distracted. What do you suppose those people
are up to now? Trying to get Essex Maid for Mamzell to ride!"

Zeke stopped in his mad career and returned his mother's stare for a
silent moment. "And not a dungeon on the place probably!" he exclaimed
at last. "Just like some folks' shiftlessness."

"They _asked_ it. They asked Mr. Evringham if that girl couldn't ride
Essex Maid while he was in the city!"

'Zekiel lifted his eyebrows politely. "Where are their remains to be
interred?" he inquired with concern.

"Well, not in _this_ family vault, you may be sure. He gave it to them
to-night for a fact." Mrs. Forbes smiled triumphantly. "'I didn't know
Eloise remembered her father,'" she mimicked. "I'll bet that got under
their skin!"

"Dear parent, you're excited," remarked Zeke.

She brought her reminiscent gaze back to rest upon her son. "Get your
coat quick, 'Zekiel. Here's the telegram. Take the car that passes the
park gate, and stop at the station. That's the nearest place."

Ezekiel obediently struggled into the coat hanging conveniently near.
"What does the telegram say?--'Run away, little girl, the ogre isn't
hungry'?"

"Not much! She's coming. He's sending for the brat."

"Poor brat! How did it happen?"

"Just some more of my lady's doings," answered Mrs. Forbes angrily. "Of
course she had to put in her oar and exasperate Mr. Evringham until he
did it to spite her."

"Cutting off his own nose to spite his face, eh?" asked Zeke, taking the
slip of paper.

"Yes, and mine. It's going to come heavy on me. I could have shaken that
woman with her airs and graces. Catch her or Mamzell lifting _their_
hands!"

"Yet they want her, do they?"

"No, Stupid! That's why she's coming. Can't you understand?"

"Blessed if I can," returned the boy as he left the barn; "but I know
one thing, I pity the kid."

Mr. Evringham received a prompt answer to his message. His son
appointed, as a place of meeting, the downtown hotel where he and his
wife purposed spe