"I'll go," wheezed Uncle Israel. "I can't sleep in no other bed. Ebeneezer's beds is all terrible drafty, and I took two colds at once sleepin' in one of 'em when I knowed better 'n to try it." He tottered out of the room, the very picture of wretchedness. "Was it not clever of Willie?" whispered Mrs. Holmes, admiringly, to Dorothy. "So much ingenuity--such a fine sense of humor!" "If he were my child," snapped Dorothy, at last losing her admirable control of a tempestuous temper, "he'd be soundly thrashed at least three times a week!" "I do not doubt it," replied Mrs. Holmes, contemptuously. "These married old maids, who have no children of their own, are always wholly out of sympathy with a child's nature." "When I was young," retorted Mrs. Carr, "children were not allowed to rule the entire household. There was a current superstition to the effect that older people had some rights." "And yet," Mrs. Holmes continued, meditatively, "as the editor of _The Ladies' Own_ so pertinently asks, what is a house for if not to bring up a child in? The purpose of architecture is defeated, where there are no children." Uncle Israel, accompanied by Dick, hobbled into the room with the clothes-line. Mrs. Holmes discreetly retired, followed by her offspring, and, late in the afternoon, when Dorothy and Dick were well-nigh fagged out, the structure was in place again. Tremulously the exhausted owner lay down upon it, and asked that his supper be sent to his room. By skilful manoeuvring with Mrs. Smithers, Dick compelled the proud-spirited Willie to take up Uncle Israel's tray and wait for it. "I'll tell my mother," whimpered the sorrowful one. "I hope you will," replied Dick, significantly; but for some reason of his own, Willie neglected to mention it. At dinner-time, Mr. Perkins drew a rolled manuscript, tied with a black ribbon, from his breast pocket, and, without preliminary, proceeded to read as follows: TO THE MEMORY OF EBENEEZER JUDSON A face we loved has vanished, A voice we adored is now still, There is no longer any music In the tinkling rill. His hat is empty of his head, His snuff-box has no sneezer, His cane is idle in the hall For gone is Ebeneezer. Within the house we miss him, Let fall the sorrowing tear, Yet shall we gather as was our wont Year after sunny year. He took such joy in all his friends That he would have it so; He left his house to relatives But none of us need go. In fact, we're all related, Sister, friend, and brother; And in this hour of our grief We must console each other.