His answers to her the furnace against which he had leaned. eager questions were somewhat of the briefest. As soon as possible he walked out into the passage. “I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to open the door for me," he here remarked; it's either that or carrying this thing." "Oh, certainly." Roberta threw the door open and stepped aside to allow him to pass. Jimmie stepped out into the open air, and instantly felt himself grasped by a sturdy arm. "Come, none o' that now," said a voice to match the arm; and the bearer of the dog-house turned to find himself in the grip of a stalwart man who held him with one hand, while the other grasped the club of a night watchman. "What's the matter?" came Roberta's voice once more, as she too stepped out. "Oh, it's all right, Mr. Bassett. Mr. Weston said I might have that dog-house if Mr. Tyler would come and take it away for me. And he gave me the key, you And you know me, don't you-Miss Vibert ?" see. 66 'Oh, yes, miss, then it's all right," returned the watchman, releasing his victim. "Beg pardon, sir, but-I guess you've fell down, haven't you? So I didn't notice the difference at first. You see, I've found out they's been some tramps got into this house a day or two ago, so I came up early to lay for 'em. An' when you came out, I thought you was one sure, and nabbed onto you." "Tramps!" Roberta's eyes were big with terror. "Why, they might have come when I was all alone up there and Mr. Tyler was down cellar." "They might have clubbed me dead, when I fell down and knocked that infernal hen out of the dog-house," muttered. Jimmie to himself, but aloud he merely said, "Well, it's lucky they weren't there. Let's go home." The darkness had come on faster than Jimmie had dared to hope, or else his adventures in the cellar had taken longer than he thought. So their homeward journey attracted less notice than he had feared. To be sure, they did run square into Billy Davenport, who asked if Jimmie was moving, and if the van followed with the rest of his furniture. But with this exception. the first block was passed in safety. They were nearing the electric light at the head of the second and could almost see the veranda of Roberta's house, when two figures struck into the circle of light just in front of them. The figures were both those of young men, and the light revealed the fact that they were in the most immaculate of summer attire. Jimmie shrank back further into the shadow, but Roberta went forward without noticing. Just as she was well within the light, some unknown cause impelled one of the men in front to turn. At sight of her he immediately lifted his hat and advanced with outstretched hand, exclaiming, "Why, how do you do, Miss Vibert? Halley and I are just on our way to your house." "Why, I'm so glad I came back in time," said Roberta cordially, as she shook hands. "Mr. Tyler and I- But I forgot, you don't know Mr. Tyler. Mr. Halley, this is Mr.- Why, where are you, Mr. Tyler?" There was nothing else for it. Jimmie set his teeth, strode into the light, and stood there, his tumbled head rising above the dog-house clasped to his bosom, to confront the amused eyes of the stranger youths. "Mr. Tyler is just being good enough to carry a dog-house home for me," explained Roberta calmly, and went on with the introductions. Jimmie twice nodded his head stiffly over the ridge-pole of the dog-house, and then Roberta turned and started up the street between the two men. Jimmie followed, bearing, with the load that filled his outstretched arms, a grotesque resemblance to an irate locomotive, with a yawning void where the headlight should have been. They reached the house at last, and Shovels, wheezing as usual, came feebly out to meet them. Roberta assigned the strangers chairs on the veranda, but commanded Jimmie to carry the dog-house around to the woodshed, and followed herself to put Shovels to bed. "Now," she said briskly, when the house was finally disposed to her satisfaction, "you just go out there and entertain those fellows till I get Shovels settled for the night. No, I don't want any help, you just go and tell them I'll be out presently." Jimmie stalked moodily around the house and up the steps. toward his usual chair, to find a dark figure already in possession. He dropped angrily into the corner farthest removed from the hammock, and sat there, bolt upright and silent. "It's an awfully warm evening," remarked one of the men, after a minute or two. "Very," returned Jimmie savagely, conscious of a stream of perspiration trickling down his nose. The subject fell to the ground and a silence ensued. "Miss Vibert is a very attractive girl," at length remarked the second man. This man, as exasperated friends sometimes. told him, had a genius for "putting his foot in it." "Very," snapped Jimmie, and that subject fell on top of the first, and the three sat in gloomy silence until Roberta appeared. The evening was not a pleasant one. Roberta classed it afterward as one of the hardest in the course of her entire social experience. She tried her best to make conversation, and two of her guests tried hard to respond. But the efforts of all three were powerless to dispel the gloomy atmosphere which overhung the occasion. And this atmosphere emanated from a disheveled figure sitting bolt upright, silent, persistent, and defiant in a shadowy corner,-a figure which refused to unbend, or to remove the baleful shadow of its presence, but stayed on, mutely insisting that in spite of soot or crumpled collar or tumbled hair"a man's a man for a' that," and, if he choose to do so, has an inalienable right to overstay any other man whom he can tire out. In the end, the determined patience of this moody onlooker proved too strong, and his opponents retired from the field. As they turned down the walk, Roberta, in a desperate attempt to appear unconscious of the sullenness of her remaining guest, leaned forward from her hammock and began vivaciously, "Oh, Mr. Tyler, Shovels was-" Jimmie's self-control gave way. He leaned forward suddenly in his turn. "See here, Miss Roberta, which do you care most for, me or Shovels?" His tone was masterful. Against the glare of the nearest electric light he could see the outline of Roberta's head. The chin went up in a defiant little tilt which he knew only too well, and her voice was mockingly sweet as she answered, "You or Shovels? Why-Shovels, of course. "All right, good night," and Jimmie picked up his hat, realizing that further discussion was useless just then. He had reached the end of the little lawn and was turning into the sidewalk, when he heard Roberta's voice call, "Mr. Tyler!" He turned, saw her standing at the top of the step, and went slowly back. Roberta was picking a honeysuckle leaf to pieces. Jimmie stood expectant at the foot of the steps. "Er-good night!" said Roberta, still looking at the leaf she was tearing into bits. Jimmie could not have told how, but he suddenly realized that the moment was critical and called for decisive measures. He bent toward her. "Roberta Vibert, look me in the face, and tell me that was what you called me back to say to me!" Roberta hesitated, picked at the leaf again, and then-looked up. As their eyes met, Jimmie made a curious, sudden movement forward, with arms outstretched, then drew hastily back. "Oh, I forgot,-I'm all soot," and he laughed a little foolishly. But as Jimmie had started, Roberta had started too. She had not stopped, and that is the reason why, before the words were well out of Jimmie's mouth, the soot from the cellar was sprinkled impartially over himself and Roberta. It was some time later, at an hour which it is better not to mention, that Jimmie took his final departure for that night. As he once more reached the edge of the lawn, he turned and looked back at the house, while a whimsical smile gradually spread itself over his face. "Well," he remarked, as he turned away, "I hope Shovels is happy." The abounding peace and good will in his heart had grown great enough to include even one mangy little cur. Despite crushed collar, bruised shoulders, and blackened cuffs, he liked Shovels at last. NONA BURNETT MILLS. SCYLD'S DEATH SHIP Out of the damp of the mist it comes drifting, Seen, but half seen, Gray with the ice sheen, Headed for port that is known by no sailor, Bearing the warrior as he had willed it, Adrift, but not drifting, Into the heart of the mist it goes drifting, Seen, but half seen, Gray with the ice sheen, Seeking the haven. HELEN ISABEL WALBRIDGE. THE IDYLLIC PATCHWORK QUILT The patchwork quilt, product of long, slow winter days, relic of the time when provident mothers set their little maids of seven or eight to taking small patient stitches in blocks of calico. that were designed for the wedding chest, is fast disappearing from among us, well-nigh exterminated since the arrival of the "boughten," machine-made comfortable. We have societies for the preservation of "our feathered songsters," societies to guard against the destruction of the forests; we have game laws and lobster laws, but where is the club or the statute to prevent the disappearance of the patchwork quilt? To be sure, its relative, the blue and white knitted quilt, has found temporary favor as a door hanging or a couch cover, but the patchwork quilt is given neither respect nor admiration; stowed away in some remote corner of the attic, it waits with the biscuit pillow and the rag rug for the day when a house cleaning or a moving shall cast out such useless truck to the scrub woman or the furnace man. Yet it is not for the patchwork quilt that I am pleading, but for us, if we fail to appreciate it. Those many-patterned blocks of calico should meet with tender regard from us and be given a goodly place in our affections. Who of us can forget the |