"Madam," said Mr. Bradford, a faint flush mounting to his temples as he opened the office door, "you are speaking of my Colonel, under whom I served in the war. He was my best friend, and though he is dead, it is still my privilege to protect him. I bid you good afternoon!" She did not perceive until long afterward that she had practically been ejected from the legal presence. Even then, she was so intent upon the point at issue that she was not offended, as at another time she certainly would have been. "He's lying," she said to herself, "they're all lying. There's money hidden in that house, and I know it, and what's more, I'm going to have it!" She had searched her own rooms on the night of her arrival, but found nothing, and the attic, so far, had yielded her naught save discouragement and dust. "To think," she continued, mentally, "that after two of my children were born here and named for them, that we are left in this way! I call it a shame, a disgrace, an outrage!" Her anger swiftly cooled, however, as she went into the house, and her fond sight rested upon her darlings. Willie had a ball and had already broken two of the front windows. The small Rebecca was under the sofa, tempering the pleasure of life for Claudius Tiberius, while young Ebeneezer, having found a knife somewhere, was diligently scratching the melodeon. "Just look," said Mrs. Holmes, in delighted awe, as Dorothy entered the room. "Don't make any noise, or you will disturb Ebbie. He is such a sensitive child that the sound of a strange voice will upset him. Did you ever see anything like those figures he is drawing on the melodeon? I believe he's going to be an artist!" Crushed as she was in spirit by her uncongenial surroundings, Dorothy still had enough temper left to be furiously angry. In these latter days, however, she had gained largely in self-control, and now only bit her lips without answering. But Mrs. Holmes would not have heard her, even if she had replied. A sudden yowl from the distressed Claudius impelled Dorothy to move the sofa and rescue him. "How cruel you are!" commented Mrs. Holmes. "The idea of taking Rebbie's plaything away from her! Give it back this instant!" Mrs. Carr put the cat out and returned with a defiant expression on her face, which roused Mrs. Holmes to action. "Willie," she commanded, "go out and get the kitty for your little sister. There, there, Rebbie, darling, don't cry any more! Brother has gone to get the kitty. Don't cry!" But "brother" had not gone. "Chase it yourself," he remarked, coolly. "I'm going out to the barn." "Dear Willie's individuality is developing every day," Mrs. Holmes went on, smoothly. "There, there, Rebbie, don't cry any more. Go and tell Mrs. Smithers to give you a big piece of bread with lots of butter and jam on it. Tell her mamma said so. Run along, that's a nice little girl."