“That being the case,” said Hiram, soberly, as they sat close together with the lantern at their feet, “I’ll relate a little circumstance that a man once told me. It’ll give you something to think about, but I shouldn’t want to say how true ’tis, for it seems a mite improbable. This man said that a friend of his out West somewhere had always had trouble with the chimney in his parlor--I would say with the draught of it up from the fireplace. He had it tinkered off an’ on for years, and finally he decided he’d have the old contraption torn down and a bran’ new chimney put up. “Someway the mason made a mistake and got the new chimney on wrong side up, and the draught was a powerful one, and, first they know, rain, hail, snow, and what-all were drawed right down into the room, making dreadful work. “They sent for the mason, of course, and he took the chimney down and put it on again right side up, and then the draught was so powerful that it drawed a braided rug and a pair o’ tongs and a three-legged stool and a number of other articles right up the chimney. “Then they saw something had got to be done, so they put a poultice--a flour poultice, I understood him to say--on the jamb of the fireplace, and that drawed down so it balanced and counteracted the draught, and after that the chimney gave perfect satisfaction.” Polly had stared at the narrator when he began the story, but as he progressed she covered her mouth with both hands for fear she should laugh out and interrupt him. “Mr. Hiram,” she cried, as the storyteller rose, chuckling, and began to close the barn for the night, “next to Mr. Hans Christian Andersen’s I would rather hear your make-believe circumstances than anybody’s that ever I heard!” “Compliment number two,” said Hiram, as they stepped out of the barn, side by side. “You’d better be looking sharp or you’ll have me all stuffed out with pride before you know it, young lady.” CHAPTER XVIII A DREADED VISITOR Nobody but the kittens knew that Polly dreaded the coming of Eleanor’s twin. She told them all about it Saturday morning as they sat in her lap, cuddled up into a warm heap under the gray shawl that Arctura had wrapped about her. Arctura’s tooth had not quite stopped its grumbling and she had firmly declined Polly’s aid in the kitchen that morning. “I’ve got some bothersome cooking to do,” said Arctura, without the smile which might let in a draft of air on the convalescent jaw, “and I’d best be alone, for my nerves are sort of jumpy along with a pain I’ve been enduring in my head without speaking of it, for some days. The air’s mild enough for you to sit out on the piazza and watch for Miss Hetty and Bobby, if I wrap you up well. It’s getting ready to rain again to-morrow, and then I have hopes of some fair, warm weather when it clears off finally.” Miss Pomeroy’s rheumatism was much less troublesome than it had been for some days, and Hiram had helped her into the low basket phaeton an hour before.