“I never thought I could understand it so clearly,” she said, “and now if I could only remember about the Barbary pirates and the merchant marine, I really could be almost sure of going to college.” “Barbary pirates?” repeated Miss Miranda. “I happen to know something of them, myself. How do they come to trouble you when they have all been dead so long?” “Oh, I just don’t seem to be able to remember when they lived, or what they did,” Betsey sighed. “They seem to come in that dull middle period in the history, between the Revolution and the Civil War, when nothing particular ever seemed to happen and most of the Presidents were men whose names you never heard before. It’s all very difficult.” “Do you remember,” returned Miss Miranda, “that little green tree that you saw in my toy cupboard, the first day that you came? It was put there by my great-grandfather, who fought against those self-same pirates and helped to put an end to their wrongdoing. If I should tell you how he came into possession of the tree, I believe you could remember better what happened in those early days and how America built up her shipping, that merchant marine about which I have heard you groan. Would you like to hear?” “We would,” answered the two in a single breath. “And may I go and bring the tree to show David?” Elizabeth asked. She scarcely waited for permission but was off down the path having quite forgotten her former weariness. Michael was sitting on the bench as Miss Miranda had said, and would not even respond to her greeting as she passed. He had been so friendly of recent days that she stopped, surprised, and turned back to question him. “What is the matter Michael? Is it really the black cat that troubles you so?” “Matter enough,” he returned morosely, “even without the black cat. There has been trouble brewing for long and I am thinking it is about to break.” “But why? What trouble? What makes you think so?” Betsey pressed her questions anxiously. But his answers were most unsatisfactory. “Oh, just trouble. And how do I know it is coming soon? I feel it in my bones like.” He would say no more and she was forced to go about her errand. As she crossed the lawn by the house she saw that the workshop door was open to the warm night air and that Mr. Reynolds was as busy as ever inside. It made a quaint picture, the shadowy room, the brilliant circle of light, the old man’s intent, intelligent face bent over his work, the black crow sitting immovable as a statue on the corner of the table. A pleasant noise of quietly whirring wheels came out of the door, a peaceful, comfortable song that mingled with the cheery chirp of a cricket in the grass. It was such a happy, untroubled scene. No presentiment of evil could be lurking that night in any bones, but Michael’s.