ay.

And upon the suggestion of the immortal bard he chose the sleeper's
end of it and passed away.

CHAPTER XXIV.

AUNTIE TAKES THE TRAIL.

"Mix a tablespoonful of corn starch with a quarter of a cupful of
water. Stir this into a cupful of boiling water, and boil for two
minutes; then add the juice and rind of a lemon and a cupful of sugar,
and cook three minutes longer. Beat an egg very light, and pour the
boiling mixture over it. Return to the fire and cook a minute longer,
stirring all the while--a most tasty lemon sauce"----

"T' 'ell wit' these limon sauces!" exploded Michael Phelan, hurling
the book across the room and bounding from his chair. "Sure 'n I'll
niver be able to look a limon in the face agin. Limon, limon,
limon--these blame books are filled wit' 'em. 'Tis a limon I am mesilf
an' all fer a limon colored bill. But I'll not stand it a minute
longer, shut down into this tomb wit' nothin' but mice fer comp'ny.
Wurra! Wurra! Rose O'Neil, but your blue eyes an' your black hair an'
your divilish smiles have spelled me finish."

Phelan wrung his hands and took a turn around the room. Now and again
he stopped and shook his fist at the ceiling, and at last, beside
himself, he made a rush for the door that led to the stairway. Opening
a crack, he listened. Nothing but heavy silence beat down on him from
above and he shivered. He looked back into the kitchen and his eye
fell on the pile of cookbooks. With a muttered oath he flung himself
through the doorway and crept upstairs.

He had to feel his way through the narrow slit of a corridor above,
and it was with an immense sigh of relief that he opened the door and
stepped into the great drawing room he had left. In the dim light of
the one glowing lamp he made out Whitney Barnes deep in the embrace of
a great chair and sonorously asleep.

"So that's the way he's kapin' watch!" hissed Phelan through his
teeth, as he fairly pounced across the room. First he seized the young
man's feet and threw them from their resting place to the floor,
exclaiming as he did so:

"Here you--wake up!"

"Yes, dear," mumbled the young man in his sleep, "I could abide with
you always."

"Don't yez be afther dearin' me," snarled Phelan. "Wake up!"

Barnes opened his eyes and asked thickly:

"Wassa masser."

"What are yez doin' there?" cried Phelan.

"What am I doing here," rejoined Barnes, now wide-awake and getting on
his feet. "Why, I'm keeping watch at the