“Tera Corona,” piped her brother. “I won’t,” said the Prophet. “I will not.” And he tottered out of the room, carrying the Sagittarius letter in his hand. In the hall he paused for a moment, holding on to the balusters and re-reading his directions. Then he crawled slowly up the stairs and sought his grandmother’s room. CHAPTER XIV THE PROPHET JOURNEYS TO THE MOUSE Mrs. Merillia was just beginning to recover from the prostration of the preceding day when the Prophet came into the room where she was seated with Mrs. Fancy Quinglet. She looked up at him almost brightly, but started when she saw how agitated he seemed. “Grannie,” said the Prophet, abruptly, “you would tell me anything, wouldn’t you?” “Why, of course, my dear boy. But what about?” “About--about yourself?” Mrs. Merillia looked very much astonished. “There is nothing to hide, Hennessey,” she said with gentle dignity. “You know that.” “I do, I do,” cried the Prophet, passionately. “Yours has been the best, the sweetest life the world has ever known!” “Well, I don’t wish to imply--” “But I do, grannie, I do. Can Fancy leave us for a moment?” “Certainly. Fancy, you can go to your tatting.” “Yes, ma’am.” “Mr Hennessey has something to explain to me.” “Oh, ma’am, the houses that have been broke up by explainings!” And with this, as the Prophet thought, appallingly appropriate exclamation, Mrs. Fancy hurried feverishly from the room. “Now what is the question you wish to ask me, Hennessey?” said Mrs. Merillia, with a soft dignity. “There are--one moment--there are eight questions, grannie,” responded the Prophet, shrinking visibly before the dread necessity by which he found himself confronted. “Eight! So many?” “Yes, oh, indeed, yes.” “Well, my dear, and what are they?” “The first is--is--grannie, when were you removed from--from the bottle?” A very delicate flush crept into Mrs. Merillia’s charming cheeks. “The bottle, Hennessey! Never, never!” she said, with a sort of pathetic indignation. “How could you suppose--I--the bottle--” Her pretty old voice died away. “Answered, darling grannie, answered!” ejaculated the Prophet. “Please--please don’t! And now--your first tooth?” “My first what!” cried Mrs. Merillia in almost terrified amazement. “Tooth--when did you cut it?” “I have no idea. Surely, Hennessey--” “Answered, dearest grannie!” cried the Prophet, with gathering agitation. “Did you ever wear a short coat?” “I--I’m not a man!” “You didn’t! Always a skirt?” “Of course! Why--” “And you’re sixty-eight on the twentieth. So for sixty-eight years you’ve always worn a skirt. That’s four.” “Four what? Are you--?” “When did you put your hair up, grannie, darling?” “My hair--never. You know I’ve always had a maid to do these things for me. Fancy--” “Of course. You’ve never put your hair up. I might have known. You were married very young, weren’t you?”