Miss Caxton's father was a very busy man for the next fifteen minutes. He obtained a long pole and poked the little boys off the roof, one at a time, beginning with the twin; then as they rolled from the shed he ran and caught them. A good deal of physical energy was required in the operation, and when Roderick was dislodged, he being the last, Miss Caxton's parent was hot and exhausted; there was also a baleful gleam in his eyes, suggestive of the wrath to come. He picked up the twin, whose small lungs seemed to distil shrieks, and followed by the little boys who sulked at his side, entered the house. During the next hour or two he gained a larger experience in the pure joys of domestic life than are usually crowded into so brief a period. He gave Roderick and Thaddeus their supper—and something else as well—and put them to bed. Then he took Leander in hand, and tried to get his faculties into a condition for sleep. The twin refused to be comforted; he wanted Miss Caxton, and Miss Caxton only. It was the burden of his woes. His father looked at him. In his glance paternal love seemed to be in abeyance. “You'd better make up your mind to going to bed without her, for she's put you to sleep for the last time.” Whereat Leander howled afresh. “If you don't stop and let me have a moment's quiet, I shall punish you. You hear?” Leander choked down a sob and was silent. “There,” said his father approvingly, “I guess we can get along all right. Now, you go to sleep—right off.” Leander's sobs broke forth again. “What's the matter now?” More sobs and a howl. “I thought I told you to keep still. Why don't you?” Then he grew persuasive. “Don't you love your papa?” The twin looked at him with wide eyes. “I am appealing to his better self,” reflected Miss Caxton's parent. “The instinct of affection that a child has is a most wonderful thing, a wonderful thing.” Leander dissolved into tears. “Hang the brat! What's got into him now?” Miss Caxton's parent arose and paced the floor. Leander's grief continued unchecked. His father regarded him in amazement; the twin's capacity for sorrow was very astonishing; and his anger merged into something akin to wonder. “He must be very wet inside,” he thought He addressed the twin in conciliatory tones. “See here, Leander, do you think it safe to cry like that?” But Leander, unheeding him, wept on, in a highly original manner. His father grew uneasy. “Why doesn't he stop? Hush! There! There! To please papa, who loves you so much. Confound you! How long is this going to last—will it be all night?” he asked himself. His resentment was weakening. Each sob of the twin lessened the enormity of Miss Caxton's crime. Her father was willing to take her back at any price—and The Fool into the bargain. In desperation he brought the sugar bowl and placed it as an offering of peace at Leander's feet. “That should stop him,” he muttered.