The gaunt black shadow appeared in the doorway of the kitchen and the high, harsh voice shrilled imperiously across the yard. "I'm coming," answered Dorothy, submissively, for in the tone there was that which instinctively impels obedience. "What is it?" she asked, when she entered the kitchen. "Nothink. I only wants to know wot it is you're layin' out to 'ave for your--luncheon, if that's wot you call it." "Poached eggs on toast, last night's cold potatoes warmed over, hot biscuits, jam, and tea." Mrs. Smithers's articulate response resembled a cluck more closely than anything else. "You can make biscuits, can't you?" went on Dorothy, hastily. "I 'ave," responded Mrs. Smithers, dryly. "Begging your parding, Miss, but is that there feller sawin' wood out by the chicken coop your 'usband?" "The gentleman in the yard," said Dorothy, icily, "is Mr. Carr." "Be n't you married to 'im?" cried Mrs. Smithers, dropping a fork. "I understood as 'ow you was, else I wouldn't 'ave come. I was never one to----" "I most assuredly _am_ married to him," answered Dorothy, with due emphasis on the verb. "Oh! 'E's the build of my youngest sister's poor dead 'usband; the one wot broke the tea set wot I give 'er over 'er poor 'ed. 'E can 'it powerful 'ard, can't 'e?" Quite beyond speech, Dorothy went outdoors again, her head held high and a dangerous light in her eyes. To-morrow, or next week at the latest, should witness the forced departure of Mrs. Smithers. Mrs. Carr realised that the woman did not intend to be impertinent, and that the social forms of Judson Centre were not those of New York. Still, some things were unbearable. The luncheon that was set before them, however, went far toward atonement. With the best intentions in the world, Dorothy's cooking nearly always went wide of the mark, and Harlan welcomed the change with unmistakable pleasure. "I say, Dorothy," he whispered, as they rose from the table; "get on with her if you can. Anybody who can make such biscuits as these will go out of the house only over my dead body." The latter part of the speech was unfortunate. "My surroundings are so extremely cheerful," remarked Dorothy, "that I've decided to spend the afternoon in the library reading Poe. I've always wanted to do it and I don't believe I'll ever feel any creepier than I do this blessed minute." In spite of his laughing protest, she went into the library, locked the door, and curled up in Uncle Ebeneezer's easy chair with a well-thumbed volume of Poe, finding a two-dollar bill used in one place as a book mark. She read for some time, then took down another book, which opened of itself at "The Gold Bug."