He was looking off over the big lake now. He had forgotten the annoyances and unpleasant surprises of their conversation. He no longer saw Nannie. A dreary never-ending waste was all that held his mental vision. Nannie's voice recalled him. "That's no excuse," she insisted. He started like a man rudely awakened. "Who thought of making excuses?" he said rather gruffly. But down in his heart lay the testimony that convicted him. By this it was proven that he had for thirteen years been excusing himself. "If you would take an interest you could do something for Lillie and she could do something for you." He did not jest this away. He was taking an interest now and doing some humiliating thinking, and as a result of all this he stood before himself in a clear, new light, in which it could readily be seen that he was less in need of sympathy than of pardon. On her way home that afternoon Nannie called at Mrs. Earnest's house, and was boisterously welcomed by the two little ones of the family, Mamie and Jim. "A story! A story!" they shouted. "Oh, I can't," said Nannie. "I haven't any in my head." "Yes, you must! You promised!" urged Jim in an extremely moral tone (he himself was a shocking transgressor in the matter of promises). "You promised! You know you did! You've got to!" "Well, what shall it be about?" "Indians!" screamed Jim, "and let them do a lot of killing!" "No. I want a kitty story," said Mamie. "I won't have a kitty story--I want a bloody Indian story!" said Jim stoutly. "I don't know any bloody Indian story, and I wouldn't tell one if I did," said Nannie in her abrupt, decisive way. "I won't listen, then," pouted Jim. "Very well. You may go to Kamchatka if you like. Mamie and I are going to have a kitty story." Mamie cuddled up to Nannie, while Master Jim stalked out of the room. It was observed, however, that he was not above taking up a squatter's claim in the hall and listening through the crack of the door. "Once upon a time," Nannie began in the old way so fascinating to children--"once upon a time there lived a dear little kitty." Just at this point the front door opened and Mr. Earnest walked in. Now, Nannie had never fancied this gentleman, and to-night, as she noted his glowering look, she felt a savage desire to annoy him. "Hello, chick," he said, brusquely In answer to little Mamie's greeting. "Good-evening, Nannie," he added, taking out his paper and seating himself. As he did so Mrs. Earnest came into the room. She always seemed ill at ease in her husband's presence, though she strove to appear the contrary. "Why, good-evening, dear," she began. "Are you home?" "No, I'm not," he said roughly. "Can't you see?" "I thought I recognized you," she replied, forcing a little laugh. He made no reply. "Did you bring the sugar, dear?" she asked presently. "No, I didn't." She was depending on this for preserving, and she wanted to ask why he failed, but did not quite dare.