When Mrs. Tree used both names, Direxia knew what it meant. She appeared at the parlor door, flushed and defiant. "How you do pester me, Mis' Tree! There's a man at the door, a tramp, and I don't want to leave him alone." "What does he look like?" "I don't know; he's a tramp, if he's nothing worse. Wants something to eat. Most likely he's stealin' the umbrellas while here I stand!" "Show him in here," said Mrs. Tree. "What say?" "Show him in here; and don't pretend to be deaf, when you hear as well as I do." "The dogs--I was going to say! You don't want him in here, Mis' Tree. He's a tramp, I tell ye, and the toughest-lookin'--" "Will you show him in here, or shall I come and fetch him?" "Well! of all the cantankerous--here! come in, you! she wants to see you!" and Direxia, holding the door in her hand, beckoned angrily to some one invisible. There was a murmur, a reluctant shuffle, and a man appeared in the doorway and stood lowering, his eyes fixed on the ground; a tall, slight man, with stooping shoulders, and delicate pointed features. He was shabbily dressed, yet there was something fastidious in his air, and it was noticeable that the threadbare clothes were clean. Mrs. Tree looked at him; looked again. "What do you want here?" she asked, abruptly. The man's eyes crept forward to her little feet, resting on the brass fender, and stopped there. "I asked for food," he said. "I am hungry." "Are you a tramp?" "Yes, madam." "Anything else?" The man was silent. "There!" said Direxia, impatiently. "That'll do. Come out into the kitchen and I'll give ye something in a bag, and you can take it with you." "I shall be pleased to have you take supper with me, sir!" said the old lady, pointedly addressing the tramp. "Direxia, set a place for this gentleman." The color rushed over the man's face. He started, and his eyes crept half-way up the old lady's dress, then dropped again. "I--cannot, madam!" he said, with an effort. "I thank you, but you must excuse me." "Why can't you?" This time the eyes travelled as far as the diamond brooch, and rested there curiously. "You must excuse me!" repeated the man, laboriously. "If your woman will give me a morsel in the kitchen--or--I'd better go at once!" he said, breaking off suddenly. "Good evening!" "Stop!" said Mrs. Tree, striking her ebony stick sharply on the floor. There was an instant of dead silence, no one stirring. "Direxia," she added, presently, "go and set another place for supper!" Direxia hesitated. The stick struck the floor again, and she vanished, muttering. "Shut the door!" Mrs. Tree commanded, addressing the stranger. "Come here and sit down! No, not on that cheer. Take the ottoman with the bead puppy on it. There!" As the man drew forward the ottoman without looking at it, and sat down, she leaned back easily in her chair, and spoke in a half-confidential tone: