"I'm sorry, Cousin Charlotte," said Gwynne, harassed and weary. "I--it's really none of my business, you know, the things belong to the estate, and I suppose Cousin Jennie's the best one to divide them--oh, Miss Clara!" He broke off to come and shake hands eagerly; he was glad to see us, I think. He had grown tall, and older-looking; his voice plunged from unnatural heights to unexpected depths with a startling and, I dare say, rather ludicrous effect. Wouldn't we sit down? "It's--it's all mussed up," he said, casting an anxious glace around. He called to the carpenters to stop their racket; it was warm, wasn't it? He'd have Hannah get us something, some lemonade, wouldn't we like it? No, he wasn't busy, just packing books, he'd be glad to rest. Sam? Why--why--Sam had gone--had gone back to Canada, didn't we know it? There wasn't really anything for Sam to do, you know. Cousin Jennie was seeing to everything. "Jennie has so much _judgment_, you know," Mrs. Lawrence put in. "We couldn't have anybody, any legal person coming in here to appraise and divide, that would be simply _horrid_--dear old Uncle Samuel's things. And Jennie is a perfectly ideal person--so sensible and just. But then we aren't the kind of family to have any fussing anyhow." ("Now wasn't that _Gwynne_ all over?" said Miss Clara afterwards. "She'd just been giving Jennie _Hail Columbia!_ But they might fight like cats and dogs among themselves, they'd never let an outsider know it. There's Gwynne Peters, the best boy that ever lived. He'd die rather than tell a lie, or take what didn't belong to him--and there he sat, just pleasantly smiling and pretending that everything was all right, when he was nearly worn out with the fuss and worry!") Mrs. Horace Gwynne came downstairs in the rear of the leviathan wardrobe, ordering and exhorting. As the men staggered down the front steps with it, she turned into the library. "I suppose your Cousin Charlotte has been telling you about the hat-rack, Gwynne," she began in an acid voice. "All I have to say is--oh, how do you do, Miss Clara. Mercy, Charlotte, tell Marian to come away from those books! Come here to Cousin Jennie, dearie; what have you got there? Don't hurt that nice book." "It ain't a nice book," said the child resentfully. "It's Revised Statutes of the State of Ohio--it says: 'Forcible entry does not c-o-n-con-s-t-i-constitute trespass.' What's 'forcible entry,' Cousin Gwynne?" "Put it down, dear, never mind," said Mrs. Horace kindly. "I want Gwynne to have all his grandfather's library," she explained, turning to Miss Vardaman. "It's only right, you know. He's Governor Gwynne's only grandson--except Sam, of course. But I said to all the family in the beginning that Gwynne Peters should have those books, it would be outrageous to give them to anyone else." Poor Miss Clara! I could have laughed at the blank expression with which she beheld this stealing of her thunder.