"Well, that's near enough," returned Dick, who was never disposed to be unduly critical. "Your husband is only related to you by marriage. Don't be such a prude. Come to the waiting arms of your uncle, or cousin, or brother-in-law, or whatever it is that I happen to be." "Go and kiss your friend Sally in the kitchen," laughed Dorothy. "You have my permission." Dick made a wry face. "I don't hanker to do it," he said, "but if you want me to, I will. I suppose she isn't pleased with her place and you want to make it more homelike for her." "What relation were you to Uncle Ebeneezer?" queried Dorothy, curiously. "Uncle and I," sighed Dick, "were connected by the closest ties of blood and marriage. Nobody could be more related than we were. I was the only child of Aunt Rebecca's sister's husband's sister's husband's sister. Say, on the dead, if I ever bother you will you tell me so and invite me to skip?" "Of course I will." "Shake hands on it, then; that's a good fellow. And say, did you say there was another skirt stopping here?" "A--a what?" "Petticoat," explained Dick, patiently; "mulier, as the ancient dagoes had it. They've been getting mulier ever since, too. How old is she?" "Oh," answered Dorothy. "She's not more than twenty or twenty-one." Then, endeavouring to be just to Elaine, she added: "And a very pretty girl, too." "Lead me to her," exclaimed Dick ecstatically. "Already she is mine!" "You'll see her at luncheon. There's the bell, now." Mr. Chester was duly presented to Miss St. Clair, and from then on, appeared to be on his good behaviour. Elaine's delicate, fragile beauty appealed strongly to the susceptible Dick, and from the very beginning, he was afraid of her--a dangerous symptom, if he had only known it. Harlan, making the best of a bad bargain, devoted himself to his guests impartially, and, upon the whole, the luncheon went off very well, though the atmosphere was not wholly festive. Afterward, when they sat down in the parlour, there was an awkward pause which no one seemed inclined to relieve. At length Dorothy, mindful of her duty as hostess, asked Miss St. Clair if she would not play something. Willingly enough, Elaine went to the melodeon, which had not been opened since the Carrs came to live at the Jack-o'-Lantern, and lifted the lid. Immediately, however, she went off into hysterics, which were so violent that Harlan and Dorothy were obliged to assist her to her room. Dick strongly desired to carry Elaine upstairs, but was forbidden by the hampering conventionalities. So he lounged over to the melodeon, somewhat surprised to find that "It" was still there. "It" was a brown, wavy, false front of human hair, securely anchored to the keys underneath by a complicated system of loops of linen thread. Pinned to the top was a faded slip of paper on which Uncle Ebeneezer had written, long ago: "Mrs. Judson always kept her best false front in the melodeon. I do not desire to have it disturbed.--E. J."