he younger, viewing the one piece of pie remaining in the plate and
her clamorous sister, raised her own jealous little pipe. "I want a
piece of Mis' Bennett's pie," she proclaimed, pulling her mother's
sleeve. "Mother, can't I have a piece of Mis' Bennett's pie?"

Flora's face was very red, and her mouth was twitching. She hastily
pushed her own pie to the elder child, and gave the last piece on the
plate to the younger. Their grandmother frowned on them like a rock,
but they ate their pie unconcernedly.

"I think Mis' Bennett's pie is a good deal better than grandma's,"
said the younger little girl, smacking her lips contemplatively; and
Flora gave a half-chuckle, while her mother's severity of mien so
deepened that she seemed to cast an actual shadow.

"Now, Flora, I tell you what 'tis," said she, when the meal was at
last over and the guests were gone--they took their leave very soon
afterward--"if you don't punish them children, I shall."

There was a wail of terror from the little girls. "Oh, mother, you do
it, you do it!" cried they.

Flora giggled audibly.

"You'll just spoil them children," said her mother, severely; "you
ought to be ashamed of yourself, Flora."

Flora tried to draw her face into gravity. "Go right upstairs,
children," said she. "It's so funny, I can't help it," she whispered,
with another furtive giggle.

"I don't see anything very funny in children's actin' the way they
have all dinner-time."

The children thumped merrily over the stairs. It was clear that they
stood in no great fear of their mother's chastisement. They knew by
experience that her hand was very soft, and the force of its fall
tempered by mirth and tender considerateness; their grandmother's
fleshless and muscular old palm was another matter.

Soon after Flora followed them there was a series of arduous cries,
apparently maintained more from a childish sense of the fitness of
things than from any actual stress of pain. They soon ceased.

"She ain't half whipped 'em," Mrs. Lowe, who was listening
downstairs, said to herself.

The lawyer was in his office; he had intrenched himself there as soon
as possible, covering his retreat with the departure of his guests.

Mrs. Field and Lois, removed from it all the distance of tragedy from
comedy, were walking up the street to the Maxwell house. Mrs. Field
stalked ahead with her resolute stiffness; Lois followed after her,
keeping always several paces behind. No matter h