and were duly installed by Siron. Siron was summoned and
threatened with deposition. The poor man shrugged his shoulders in
hopeless despair. Mon Dieu! how could he help it--the "Stensons" were
not at hand to look after their duties--the woman had paid for
accommodations, and money in an art colony was none too common! But
Bailley Bodmer--had he, too, been derelict? Bailley appeared, his
boasted courage limp, his prowess pricked.

He asked to have a man pointed out--any two or three men--and he would
see that the early stage should not go away empty. But a woman, a woman
in half-mourning, was different, and besides, this was a different
woman. She was an American, of course, but probably against her will.
Her name was Osbourne and she was from San Francisco. She spoke good
French and was an artist. One of the Stevensons sneezed; the other took
a lofty and supercilious attitude of indifference. It was tacitly
admitted that the woman should be allowed to remain, her presence being
a reminder to Siron of remissness, and to Bailley of cowardice.

So the matter rested, the Siron Club being in temporary disgrace, the
unpleasant feature too distasteful even to discuss. As the days passed,
however, it was discovered that Mrs. Osbourne did not make any demands
upon the Club. She kept her own counsel, rose early and worked late,
and her son and daughter were very well behaved and inclined to be
industrious in their studies and sketching.

It was discovered one day that Robert Louis had gotten lunch from the
Siron kitchen and was leading the Osbourne family on a little excursion
to the wood back of Rosa Bonheur's. Self-appointed scouts who happened
to be sketching over that way came back and reported that Mrs. Osbourne
was seen painting, while Robert Louis sat on a rock near by and told
pirate tales to Lloyd, the twelve-year-old boy. A week later Robert
Louis had one of his "bad spells," and he told Bob to send for Mrs.
Osbourne. Nobody laughed after this. It was silently and unanimously
voted that Mrs. Osbourne was a good fellow, and soon she was enjoying
all the benefits of the Siron Club. When a frivolous member suggested
that it be called the Siren Club he was met with an oppressive stillness
and black looks.

Mrs. Osbourne was educated, amiable, witty and wise. She evidently knew
humanity, and was on good terms with sorrow, although sorrow never
subdued her; what her history was nobody sought to inquire.

When she sketch