nd a pail of water, and shut 'em up
while you go off for the day with any barrel of cider. You know what
dogs is, Barret', he says. 'And what they isn't. They've got to be fed
regular', he says, 'and with discipline. Else there's deaths.--Some
natural. Some unnatural. And some just plain spectacular from
furniture falling on their arguments. So if there's any fatalities
come this Christmas Time, Barret', he says, 'or any undue gains in
weight or losses in weight, I shall infer, Barret', he says, 'that you
was absent without leave.' ... It don't look like a very wholesome
Christmas for me," sighed the old Butler. "Not either way. Not what
you'd call wholesome."

"But this Mr. Delcote?" puzzled Flame. "What a perfectly horrid man
he must be to give such heavenly dogs nothing but dog-bread and milk
for their Christmas dinner!... Is he young? Is he old? Is he thin? Is
he fat? However in the world did he happen to come to a queer,
battered old place like the Rattle-Pane House? But once come why
didn't he stay? And--And--And--?"

"Yes'm," sighed the old Butler.

In a ferment of curiosity, Flame edged jerkily forward, and subsided
as jerkily again.

"Oh, if this only was a Parish Call," she deprecated, "I could ask
questions right out loud. 'How? Where? Why? When?' ... But being just
a social call--I suppose--I suppose...?" Appealingly her eager eyes
searched the old Butler's inscrutable face.

"Yes'm," repeated the old Butler dully. Through the quavering fingers
that he swept suddenly across his brow two very genuine tears
glistened.

With characteristic precipitousness Flame jumped to her feet.

"Oh, darn Mr. Delcote!" she cried. "I'll feed your dogs, Christmas
Day! It won't take a minute after my own dinner or before! I'll run
like the wind! No one need ever know!"

So it was that when Flame arrived at her own home fifteen minutes
later, and found her parents madly engaged in packing suit-cases,
searching time-tables, and rushing generally to and fro from attic to
cellar, no very mutual exchange of confidences ensued.

"It's your Uncle Wally!" panted her Mother.

"Another shock!" confided her Father.

"Not such a bad one, either," explained her Mother. "But of course
we'll have to go! The very first thing in the morning! Christmas Day,
too! And leave you all alone! It's a perfect shame! But I've planned
it all out for everybody! Father's Lay Reader, of course, will take
the Christmas service! We'll just have