Once Tess and Dot stood on their side of the fence, hand in hand, watching the three sisters on the other side playing with their dolls near the dividing line. The one with the curls looked up and saw them. It quite shocked Dot when she saw this pretty little creature twist her face into an ugly grimace. “I hope you see us!” she said, tartly, to Tess and Dot. “What you staring at?” The Kenways were amazed—and silent. The other two Creamer children laughed shrilly, and so encouraged the one who had spoken so rudely. “You can just go away from there and stare at somebody else!” said the offended small person, tossing her head. “We don’t want you bothering us.” “O-o-o!” gasped Dot. “We—we didn’t mean to stare,” stammered Tess. “We—we don’t know any little girls in Milton yet. Don’t you want to come over and play with us?” “No, we don’t!” declared the curly head. “We got chased out of that old place enough, when we first came to live here, by that old crazy man.” “She means Uncle Peter,” said Tess to Dot. “Was he crazy?” asked the wondering Dot. “Of course he wasn’t,” said Tess, sturdily. “Yes he was, too!” snapped the Creamer girl. “Everybody says so. You can ask them. I expect you folks are all crazy. Anyway, we don’t want to play with you, and you needn’t stand there and stare at us!” The smaller Kenway sisters went meekly away. Of course, if Agnes had overheard the conversation, she would have given them as good as they sent. But Tess and Dot were hurt to the quick. Dot said to Ruth, at supper: “Was our Uncle Peter crazy, Ruthie?” “Of course not,” said the bigger girl, wonderingly. “What put such a silly idea into your little head?” The tale came out, then. Agnes bristled up, of course. “Let me catch them talking to you that way!” she cried. “_I’ll_ tell them something!” “Oh, don’t let us quarrel with them,” urged Ruth, gently. “But you and Tess, Dot, had better not put yourselves in their way again.” “Dey’s berry bad chillen—dem Creamers,” put in Uncle Rufus, who was shuffling about the dining-room, serving. Although he was faultless in his service, with the privilege of an old retainer when the family was alone, he _would_ assist in the general conversation. In Agnes’ eyes, Uncle Rufus made a perfect picture. Out of his bulging traveling bag had appeared just the sort of a costume that she imagined he should wear—even to the gray spats! “It makes me feel just _rich_!” the twelve year old said to Ruth, with a contented sigh. “And real silver he got out of the old chest, and polished it up—and the cut glass!” They began to use the dining-room for meals after Uncle Rufus came. The old man gently insisted upon it. “Sho’ly, Missie, you wants ter lib up ter de customs ob de ol’ Co’ner House. Mars’ Peter drapped ’em all off latterly; but de time was w’en dis was de center ob sassiety in Milton—ya-as’m!”