“Well, then,” answered the Duchess, “come any time you want. You’ll find your dinner kep’ nice an’ warm on a plate in the oven.” Dr. Grafton meekly returned to the living-room, to find his daughter considerately averting her face from him. His hearty laugh brought her back to his side. He threw himself on the couch by the window. “Well, I give up!” he announced. “Was there ever such a martinet!” Barbara laughed with him, but her face quickly sobered. “I really don’t think I shall stand it much longer,” she said. “She has absolutely no regard for my ideas, and pays no attention to any orders or requests. She even tells me what she ‘desires’ for meals.” “They are very good meals,” put in the Doctor, hastily. His mind reviewed the gastronomic comforts of the last few days, and the uncertainty and scantiness of those meals before the arrival of the Duchess. “Don’t give Mrs. Harris up, my dear,” he said, as he rose to depart. “You are forgetting the state of things before she came, just as it is hard to remember the tooth-ache when it has finally succumbed to treatment.” A drawling voice from the library broke the ensuing silence. “‘It feels so nice when it stops aching,’” quoted Jack. “Remember those green-apple pies, Miss Babbie?” “Remember those rugs that you beat so happily?” retorted Barbara. “Well, I am going to try to accustom the Duchess gradually to those regulations which are necessary; and if she won’t fall into line, she can—” “Fall out!” said Jack, promptly. “Only in that case, my dear, you will not find the poet truthful in those charming lines,— The falling out of faithful friends Renewing is of love. You will find it a renewal of—Idgits, I’m thinking.” But it was another week before the clash came. A few preliminary skirmishes marked the passage of time, but Barbara might have overthrown theories and plans, however “necessary,” if matters had not been precipitated by a morning visitor. “I just thought I’d drop in,” said Miss Bates, coming up to the porch where Barbara was sitting shelling peas and Gassy was reading. “I wanted to see how you were getting on. Where you goin’, Gassy?” “To read where people aren’t talking,” answered the little girl as she left the porch. Miss Bates shook her head sorrowfully. “It’s awful to see how those children act without their mama,” she said. “I don’t like to complain, Barbara, but Cecilia’s conduct to me is almost beyond parallel! An’ Charles called me a real naughty name yesterday, when I took his toy reins off of my gate-posts.” “I’m sorry,” said Barbara, mechanically, putting some peas in with the pods. “I’ll speak to Charles—” She was interrupted by the voice of one who called with authority, “Barbara, ain’t them peas done? It’s time to put them on.” Barbara excused herself, and carried in the dish. When she returned, with flaming cheeks, Miss Bates was watching for her with open curiosity.