"Well--Nell got ye in hand?" inquired Nell's husband, John Peebles, at dinner. The good-natured wink which accompanied the words, the hearty voice and friendly manner, robbed the words of offense. They seemed rather a humorous gibe directed against Nell. These two got along excellently well. There was about John Peebles an effect of tender strength, re-assuring and at the same time illuminating--responsive to weakness, but adamant to imposition. Even the managerial Nell had not succeeded in piercing that armored side of him--his 'thus far and no further.'" "Aw--you!" said Nell, adoringly. "I bet Nell's met her boss!" grinned Marvin. "He don't go so fur as to beat ye, does he, Nell?" "Smarty!" returned Nell. Her eyes crinkled up at the corners. She had met her match, and she knew it and gloried in it. But she didn't want any sass from the family. She had none. They submitted without demur. The dish-pan sunned in the old place. The towels dried along a line of her own stretching. "John and me don't mean to make you any work," she assured them. They made no work. It seemed there had never been so much leisure. "Myry," inquired Nell, "where's that other glass that goes with George's wife's lemonade-set?" "Oh, it must be 'round som'ers," Myra returned vaguely. "Round som'ers! Why ain't they all together?" Nell prodded in further search. "Where's my pink gilt cup and saucer Aunt Em gimme one Christmas?" "Ain't it there?" ventured Myra, with a cowardly shrinking from confession, not so much on her own account as for old Mrs. Bray. There was the majolica pickle-dish, the gilt, beflowered lemonade-glass, Abbie Carter's cracker-jar, certain of the fragile souvenir pin-trays stacked in a corner of the shelf. "Here's Marvin's blue one. It's funny where them things can be. I always kept them here together, on this shelf." "They're som'ers," Myra repeated vaguely. Old Mrs. Bray had sat throughout this conversation, making buttonholes in a new gray percale. Once, when Nell was back at the sink, she reached out a wavering, fat old arm, and gave Myra's apron-string a tug, as a bad child pulls a cat's tail in a sort of impish humor. Her eyes, blue and shining as a child's saucer, looked very wise. A little laugh clucked in her throat. "Mother--you feel chilly? You want to keep out of drafts," cautioned Nellie from the sink. "Never felt more chipper!" averred old Mrs. Bray. She had not spent an afternoon in her room since Nell's arrival. To-day, however, after dinner, she withdrew with an air of intending to remain there for some time. She took her buttonholes with her. It was likely that Nell could not content herself until she had searched every cupboard and pantry for the missing treasure. "I declare--it is the beatin'est thing! Whatever can have become of them?" she apprized Myra. "You find much time to read, Myry?"