e added,
by way of consideration.

"But, you see, Miss Roscoe, we have no hen house," retorted Annie,
with a sort of flippant desperation.

"Well, there's plenty of places," remarked the other, sententiously.
"Bed's not the only place to die in, and I've always believed in
proper precautions. You give Miss Bangs my respects, and tell her that
she can't be too careful."

Then followed a fusillade of questions--the length of her stay, her
graduation from college in June, her likelihood of marriage, and her
religious beliefs.

Dazed, depleted, the girl's answers grew monosyllabic, in spite of an
air of forced gayety which she strove hard to maintain. Somehow the
inherent and masterful depression of her hostess was weighing her
down. Outside the sun had settled in clouds, and a somber twilight
stole in through the window. The voice opposite droned on, engrossing,
dominating, hypnotic. Annie realized that unless she roused herself
she would relapse into permanent silence, and so, in a lucky pause, as
her eyes fell upon a strange object hanging above the mantelpiece, she
grew aggressive for the moment, and boldly asked a question herself.

"Pardon my interrupting, Miss Roscoe, but do you mind telling me what
is that mysterious and interesting--_thing_?"

Miss Pamela's gaze followed the turn of Annie's head. She rose grimly
from her seat and went to the further corner of the room, whence she
abstracted a yardstick and stood before the fire-board. Deftly she
pushed off a cloth that enshrouded the object, and disclosed what had
evidently been, at one time, a chromo of vast dimensions; its bright
gilt frame remained intact, but the picture itself was entirely
obliterated by successive coatings of her useful gold paint, and to
the center was affixed half of a flower basket--the flaring kind--cut
longitudinally. This basket, also gilded heavily, was filled with a
varied profusion of artificial fruits.

Annie turned her chair. Miss Pamela cleared her throat and pointed
with the yardstick.

"It's not a _thing_, Miss Jenkins," she began, with some severity,
"but a sort of monument that I have made--I call it my 'Memorial Fruit
Piece.'" There was about Miss Roscoe something of the pride of the
discoverer, and she warmed to her subject.

"You see, ours was a large family, and, from time to time, many of us
were taken away--'called home,' you might say--and those that went
left to those that remained a good many relics and ke