d, absorbed in their list of supplies, the Jasper
Prentisses disappeared from view.

Grandfather McBride, eighty-one, dependent, save in moments of
excitement, upon his knotted stick, hard-featured, with a rusty beard
and a shabby black hat, departed slowly for his own quarters. Miss
Prentiss, twenty-one, hazel-eyed and graceful, with a wonderful creamy
skin, under a crown of auburn braids, sank dreamily upon the broad
porch step and gazed across the green lawn into the future.

"A whole month," thought Miss Prentiss, "of doing as I
please--consulting nobody, ordering things, going to places, and coming
home to--freedom." Miss Prentiss spread out her hands with a sigh of
content. "Not that I'm interfered with--ever," she added, reproaching
herself, "but now--well, I'm it."

She rose swiftly and turned up the steps. In the wide doorway stood
Grandfather McBride, stick in hand, hat jammed down, and in his mouth,
at a defiant angle, a battered black pipe. A red flag, backed up by a
declaration of the rights of man, could not have spoken more plainly.
Miss Prentiss drew back; Mr. McBride stepped forward. Their eyes met.
Then the old gentleman flung down his challenge. He removed the pipe and
held it poised in his hand.

"What you goin' to do to-day, Triny?" he asked, briskly. "When you goin'
over to see the Deerings' parrot? There ain't another such bird in
America. You go over there this morning and see that parrot. Don't loll
about the house. Don't be lazy!" Whereupon, with less profanity, but as
much of autocracy as was ever displayed by an Irish boss whipping into
shape the lowliest of his Italian gang, Mr. McBride replaced his pipe
elaborately, and walked off with the honors. Katrina, utterly
astonished, stared after him, then shrugged, then smiled.

"Poor Grandfather," she reached at length, "in minor matters I'll let
him have his way."

The next day, Grandfather McBride smoked his pipe on the porch. On the
third morning he smoked it in the drawing-room--out of sheer defiance,
for he never entered the room save under compulsion. Katrina, reminding
herself that peace was to be desired above victory, shrugged once more,
smiled, and went for a ride. When she swept in, an hour or so later,
Grandfather McBride was in the back garden with John, and the smoke of a
huge bonfire obscured the sunlight. This was revolution, simple and
straightforward, and Katrina went at once to the back garden.

"John," she said, "what