“Her nose is pretty prominent, of course,” said the heir of the Pomeroys, reluctantly, “and she says it got its growth before the rest of her. And when they’d see her coming they’d sing out: “Hark! hark! ’Tura’s bark! ’Spose her nose Came out o’ the Ark!” “How mean!” cried Polly, indignantly. “That’s what I say, but she laughed like everything when she told me about it,” said the boy. “She says her voice was hoarse and queer because she was always having coughs and colds. She seemed to think it was a good joke.” “That’s because she’s so good-natured,” said little Polly. “I say, let’s act a charade to-night and make Aunt Hetty guess it.” said the boy, after staring at the old andirons in silence for a few minutes. “I know a fine one that I’ve just thought up, and I’ll tell you how to do your part. George Rogers and I are always making them up, and then our families try to guess them.” Polly assented with mingled joy and fear. Bobby pressed Arctura into his service to collect materials for this impromptu entertainment, and at seven o’clock Miss Pomeroy sat in the library, waiting for the first syllable. The door that led into the little porch hall was open, and Arctura and Hiram were seated side by side just over the threshold of the dining-room. “I don’t want to sit in the library along with your aunt, for it gets het up so with that fire,” Miss Green had explained to the actors. “Hiram and I will sit outside where we can see all, and yet keep comfortable.” The children had exchanged a glance of perfect understanding and some amusement, but loyalty to the faithful Arctura kept them silent. A moment after the tall clock had given its seven silvery strokes, the door into the front hall burst open and in rushed a strange figure. He was wrapped in a blanket with a bright red border, tied about the waist with a blue and green plaid shawl. In this belt were two carving knives and a hammer. A feather duster waved above the boy’s head, its handle imparting a peculiar stiffness to the action of his neck. A brown calico mask was drawn over his face. In each hand was an old hatchet. “Never you fear, Miss Hetty,” came Arctura’s voice from the porch hall, as this extraordinary figure began to caper about the room, uttering discordant yells and brandishing the hatchets, “there isn’t a weapon in his outfit that would cut a string. Mercy on us, keep away from me!” she shrieked, as the calico mask turned in her direction. Presently Polly appeared with a little basket on her arm, walking along with eyes cast down. There was a wild whoop from the figure in the blanket, a shrill cry from Polly, and the two rushed from the room, leaving the audience to reflect upon what they had seen. “Looked like murder to me,” said Hiram, chuckling, “but I suppose that ain’t the answer.” Just then Bobby stuck his head in the door.