sy manner on Mr.
Bradshaw's part.

"What the d---is the reason I can't see Myrtle, Cynthia?"

"That's more than I can tell you, Mr. Bradshaw. I can watch her goings
on, but I can't account for her tantrums."

"You say she has had some of her old nervous whims,--has the doctor been
to see her?"

"No indeed. She has kept to herself a good deal, but I don't think
there's anything in particular the matter with her. She looks
well enough, only she seems a little queer,--as girls do that
have taken a fancy into their heads that they're in love, you
know,--absent-minded,--does n't seem to be interested in things
as you would expect after being away so long."

Mr. Bradshaw looked as if this did not please him particularly. If he
was the object of her thoughts she would not avoid him, surely.

"Have you kept your eye on her steadily?"

"I don't believe there is an hour we can't account for,--Kitty and I
between us."

"Are you sure you can depend on Kitty?"

["Depind on Kitty, is it? Oh, an' to be sure ye can depind on Kitty to
kape watch at the stove-pipe hole, an' to tell all y'r plottin's an'
contrivin's to them that'll get the cheese out o' y'r mousetrap for ye
before ye catch any poor cratur in it." This was the inaudible comment
of the unseen third party.]

"Of course I can depend on her as far as I trust her. All she knows is
that she must look out for the girl to see that she does not run away or
do herself a mischief. The Biddies don't know much, but they know enough
to keep a watch on the--"

"Chickens." Mr. Bradshaw playfully finished the sentence for Miss
Cynthia.

["An' on the foxes, an' the cats, an' the wazels, an' the hen-hahks, an'
ahl the other bastes," added the invisible witness, in unheard
soliloquy.]

"I ain't sure whether she's quite as stupid as she looks," said the
suspicious young lawyer. "There's a little cunning twinkle in her eye
sometimes that makes me think she might be up to a trick on occasion.
Does she ever listen about to hear what people are saying?"

"Don't trouble yourself about Kitty Fagan,' for pity's sake, Mr.
Bradshaw. The Biddies are all alike, and they're all as stupid as owls,
except when you tell 'em just what to do, and how to do it. A pack of
priest-ridden fools!"

The hot Celtic blood in Kitty Fagan's heart gave a leap. The stout
muscles gave an involuntary jerk. The substantial frame felt the thrill
all through, and the rickety stool on which she