or.

"Customers, I cal'late," he said. "Make yourselves right to home,
ma'am, you and the little girl. I'll be right back."

He went out through the dining-room into the little hall. Barbara,
in the big rocker, looked up over Petunia's head at her mother.

"Isn't he a funny man, Mamma?" she said.

Mrs. Armstrong nodded. "Yes, he certainly is," she admitted.

"Yes," the child nodded reflectively. "But I don't believe he's
wicked at all. I believe he's real nice, don't you?"

"I'm sure he is, dear."

"Yes. Petunia and I like him. I think he's what you said our
Bridget was, a rough damson."

"Not damson; diamond, dear."

"Oh, yes. It was damson preserve Mrs. Smalley had for supper last
night. I forgot. Petunia told me to say damson; she makes so many
mistakes."

They heard the "rough diamond" returning. He seemed to be in a
hurry. When he re-entered the little sitting-room he looked very
much frightened.

"What is the matter?" demanded Mrs. Armstrong.

Jed gulped.

"They've come back," he whispered. "Godfreys, I forgot 'em, and
they've come back. WHAT'LL I do now?"

"But who--who has come back?"

Mr. Winslow waved both hands.

"The Old Scratch and his wife," he declared. "I hope they didn't
see me, but--Land of love, they're comin' in!"

A majestic tread sounded in the hall, in the dining-room. Mrs.
George Powless appeared, severe, overwhelming, with Mr. George
Powless in her wake. The former saw Mr. Winslow and fixed him with
her glittering eye, as the Ancient Mariner fixed the wedding guest.

"Ah!" she observed, with majestic irony, "the lost key is found, it
would seem."

Jed looked guilty.

"Yes, ma'am," he faltered. "Er--yes, ma'am."

"So? And now, I presume, as it is apparent that you do show the
interior of this house to other interested persons," with a glance
like a sharpened icicle in the direction of the Armstrongs,
"perhaps you will show it to my husband and me."

Jed swallowed hard.

"Well, ma'am," he faltered, "I--I'd like to, but--but the fact is,
I--"

"Well, what?"

"It ain't my house."

"Isn't your house? George," turning to Mr. Powless, "didn't I hear
this man distinctly tell you that this house WAS his?"

George nodded. "Certainly, my dear," he declared. Then turning to
Mr. Winslow, he demanded: "What do you mean by saying it is yours
one moment and not yours the next; eh?"

Jed looked around. For one instant his gaze rested upon the face
o