d the room with her lips poked out,
ready to make instant attack if Peter mentioned his lack of supper the
night before.

"Aunt Rose," asked the secretary, with his friendly intent in his tones,
"how came you to look in this morning and say you didn't expect to find
me in my room?"

She gave an unintelligible grunt, pushed the lamp to one side, and eased
her tray to the table.

Peter finished touching his tie before one of those old-fashioned
mirrors, not of cut-glass, yet perfectly true. He came from the mirror
and moved his chair, out of force of habit, so he could look up the
street toward the Arkwrights'.

"Aunt Rose," said the young man, wistfully, "why are you always angry?"

She bridled at this extraordinary inquiry.

"Me?"

"Yes, you."

She hesitated a moment, thinking how she could make her reply a personal
assault on Peter.

"'Cause you come heah, 'sputin' my rights, da' 's' why."

"No," demurred Peter, "you were quarreling in the kitchen the first
morning I came here, and you didn't know I was on the place."

"Well--I got my tribulations," she snapped, staring suspiciously at
these unusual questions.

There was a pause; then Peter said placatingly:

"I was just thinking, Aunt Rose, you might forget your tribulations if
you didn't ride them all the time."

"Hoccum! What you mean, ridin' my tribulations?"

"Thinking about them. The old Captain, for instance; you are no happier
always abusing the old Captain."

The old virago gave a sniff, tossed her head, but kept her eyes rolled
suspiciously on Peter.

"Very often the way we think and act makes us happy or unhappy,"
moralized Peter, broadly.

"Look heah, nigger, you ain't no preacher sont out by de Lawd to me!"

"Anyway, I am sure you would feel more friendly toward the Captain if
you acted openly with him; for instance, if you didn't take off all his
cold victuals, and handkerchiefs and socks, soap, kitchenware--"

The cook snorted.

"I'd feel dat much mo' nekked an' hongry, dat's how I'd feel."

"Perhaps, if you'd start over, he might give you a better wage."

"Huh!" she snorted in an access of irony. "I see dat skinflint gib'n' me
a better wage. Puuh!" The suddenly she realized where the conversation
had wandered, and stared at the secretary with widening eyes "Good Lawd!
Did dat fool Cap'n set up a nigger in dis bedroom winder jes to ketch
ole Rose packin' off a few ole lef'-overs?" Peter began a hurried
denial, but she rushe