acific grenadier. The children were following slyly in her wake, but
their mother caught sight of them and pulled them back.

Mr. Tuxbury had been sitting in the parlor with his guests, trying
his best to entertain them. He had gotten out the photograph album
for Lois, and a book of views in the Holy Land for her mother. If he
had felt in considerable haste to escape from his sister's
indignation and return to his visitors, they had been equally anxious
for him to come.

When Mrs. Field and her daughter were left alone in the office, their
first sensation was that of actual terror of each other.

Mrs. Field concealed hers well enough. She sat up without a tremor in
her unbending back, and looked out of the office door, which the
lawyer had left open. Just opposite the door, out on the sidewalk,
two men stood talking. She kept her eyes fastened upon them.

"What time did you start?" said she presently, in a harsh voice,
which seemed to rudely shock the stillness. She did not turn her
eyes.

"I--came--on the first--train," answered Lois, pantingly. Once in a
while she stole furtive, wildly questioning glances at her mother,
but her mother never met them. She continued to look at the talking
men on the sidewalk.

"Mother," began Lois finally, in a desperate voice. But just then Mr.
Tuxbury had reappeared, and conducted them to his parlor.

The parlor had lace curtains and a Brussles carpet, and looked ornate
to Mrs. Field and Lois. The chairs were covered with green plush. The
two women sat timidly on the yielding cushions, and gazed during the
pauses at the large flower pattern on the carpet. All this fine
furniture was, in fact, Mrs. Lowe's; when she had given up her own
home, and come to live with her brother, she had brought it with her.

Both of the guests arose awkwardly, Mrs. Field first and Lois after
her, when Mrs. Lowe entered, and the lawyer introduced them.

"I'm happy to make your acquaintance," said Mrs. Field.

"I believe I've seen you two or three times when you was here years
ago," said Mrs. Lowe, standing before her straight and tall in her
faded calico gown, which fitted her uncompromisingly like a cuirass.
Mrs. Lowe's gowns, no matter how thin and faded, always fitted her in
that way. Stretched over her long flat-chested figure, they seemed to
acquire the consistency of armor. "You ain't changed any as I can
see," she went on, as she got scarcely any response to her first
remark. "I should h