“Why, John, dinner is on the table and getting cold!” she called. “There is cream pea soup, too. It’s so good when it’s hot and now it’s all spoiled,” she added disappointedly. “Well, let’s eat,” said John, appearing in the doorway. “I wonder whether Lucy is coming or whether she is not,” he remarked when they were seated. “I’ll go and see,” offered Mrs. Merwent. “No. If she wants to sulk, let her sulk,” John declared. “I’m getting tired of this kind of thing.” Nannie rose and went to the kitchen. “Where’s Grace?” John asked when Mrs. Merwent reseated herself. “She’s gone.” Nannie’s air was mysterious. “Gone where?” “Well, John, I don’t want to say anything----” “Did Lucy send her away?” “Yes, John.” “What for?” “I don’t know, John. I was in my room and heard the girl crying, and when I came out Lucy was in such a temper I was afraid to inquire or say anything.” John struck the table with his fist. “I’m not going to stand Lucy’s tantrums much longer!” he cried. His lips were drawn back and showed the edges of his teeth. Dimmie, who had with difficulty climbed from his mother’s chair into his own highchair, sat there unnoticed, staring at his father, his eyes very wide open and his lips parted. “Now, John,” Nannie began soothingly. “I know you have been like a saint, but you mustn’t get discouraged. I’m going to talk to Lucy and maybe things will be better.” “You’re the saint, Nannie.” “Well, now promise me that for my sake you will go on being just as forbearing as you have been so far? I couldn’t bear to have anything come between you and Lucy.” “I don’t enjoy quarreling, Nannie, but I’m sick of coming home every night and finding a situation like this all fixed up for me.” “I know it, poor fellow, but you just _must_ promise me that you will be patient till I can bring Lucy to see what she is doing.” Then, after a moment, she continued. “I got another letter from Professor Walsh today. He is as anxious to have me back as ever, but I can’t bear to think of leaving you and Lucy, especially when _you_ need me so, John, dear.” There was a short silence. “I should hope not,” John said, at last, stirring his soup viciously. “You’re a good sort, Nannie,” he finished, not looking at her as he spoke. “Thank you, dear boy,” cooed Mrs. Merwent. “After dinner I’m going to sing all your favorite songs. Let me help you to a little more meat, won’t you?” “Thanks, I will.” John passed his plate. “But you mustn’t call me good,” she objected archly, as she put the meat on the plate. “You’re the one who’s good.” “You’re an angel,” declared John. “Ain’t I goin’ to have any dinner?” asked Dimmie. XXII The Winter’s second servant was a stout negress. Nannie received her at the front door. “Go ’round to the back door. What is your name?” she greeted the newcomer. “Yes, ma’am. My name’s Katy, ma’am,” replied the woman, bowing several times, and she waddled breathlessly around the house.