“Hi! How I know, chile? I wa’n’t dere. It happen in de long sittin’ room, in course, where dey most in gen’al sits. Fust fing we cullud people knowed was de bell rung wiolent, an’ I run up an’ foun’ mist’ess in fits an’ marster tryin’ to fetch her to. We toted her up stairs ’tween us an’ put her to bed. But soon’s ebber she could speak she sent marster out o’ de room. How does it allers happen, honey? De debbil! Dere’ll be murder done here some ob dese days—always the debbil, an’ dis time he had it all his own ’fernal way, ’cause you wa’n’t here to carcumwent him.” “Oh, I am so sorry. Poor uncle! poor auntie!” sighed the child, with a look of age and care coming over her bright young face. “I’m mad; I ain’t a bit sorry; I’m mad. If dem two fools was chillun, dey’d just get good hoopins for quarrelin’ so; an’ bein’ grown-up ’dults, dey desarves hoopin’ ten times as much as chillun, ’cause dey’s big ’nuff to know better! I gwine up now to put her feet in hot water. I’d like to put him and her bofe in hot water up to deir necks, an’ keep ’em dere till they promise to ’have deirselves better!” exclaimed ’Phia, as she took up the pail and went up stairs. Gloria looked after her. She felt as if she ought to have rebuked the woman for her manner of speaking; but then she did not wish to raise another domestic storm, and she knew that ’Phia had a temper that blazed up at a word, as stubble flames up at a spark. Indeed, if the child had been required to write ’Phia’s name, she would naturally have written it Fire, and thought that she was right. She hung her hat and sack on the hall rack, and then went softly up to her aunt’s room to sit with her and be ready to run on any errand that was required. She sat patiently with her auntie all the afternoon, reading a volume of Peter Parley’s story-books. In the evening she left her, quietly sleeping, and went down stairs to make tea for her uncle. It was a rather silent meal. De Crespigney was absorbed in thought, and never spoke to the child unless she asked him some question, and then he answered absently, though in the gentlest tone. After tea she left him sitting in his old leathern arm-chair by the small wood fire that the chill air rendered necessary even in June, and she went up to her own room and crept into bed. The next morning Madame de Crespigney appeared at the breakfast table as if nothing had happened. These stormy days are followed by calm mornings in the moral as well as in the physical atmosphere. Gloria knew from experience that after such a tempestuous misunderstanding as they had had on the previous day, her uncle and aunt would have to be left alone to come to a reconciliation. She was also glad of such a good excuse to go out.