descended to the living-room, where he delightedly and diligently
proceeded to remove the upholstery from the old Chesterfield. By the
time I came on the scene, at any rate, there was nothing but a grisly
skeleton of the Chesterfield left. Now, that particular piece of
furniture had known hard use, and there were places where the mohair
had been worn through, and I'd even discussed the expediency of having
the thing done over. But I knew that Minty's efforts to hasten this
movement would not meet with approval. So I discreetly decided to have
Whinnie and Struthers remove the tell-tale skeleton to the bunk-house.
Before that transfer could be effected, however, the Dour Man invaded
the living-room and stood with a cold and accusatory eye inspecting
that monument of destructiveness.

"Where's Elmer?" he demanded, with a grim look which started by heart
pounding.

"Elmer's dressing," I said as quietly as I could. "Do you want him?"

"I do," announced my husband, whiter in the face than I had seen him
for many a day.

"What for?" I asked.

"I think you know what for," he said, meeting my eye.

"I'm not sure that I do," I found the courage to retort. "But I'd
prefer being certain."

Duncan, instead of answering me, went to the foot of the stairs and
called his son. Then he strode out of the room and out of the house.
Struthers, in the meantime, circumspectly took possession of Minty,
who was still indecorously shaking a bit of mohair between his jocund
young teeth. She and Minty vanished from the scene. A moment later,
however, Duncan walked back into the room. He had a riding-quirt in
his hand.

"Where's that boy?" he demanded.

I went out to the foot of the stairs, where I met Elmer coming down,
buttoning his waist as he came. For just a moment his eye met mine. It
was a questioning eye, but not a cowardly one. I had intended to speak
to him, but my voice, for some reason, didn't respond to my will. So I
merely took the boy's hand and led him into the living-room. There his
father stood confronting him.

"Did that pup sleep on your bed last night?" demanded the man with the
quirt.

"Yes," said the child, after a moment of silence.

"Did you hear me say that no dog was to sleep in this house?" demanded
the child's father.

"Yes," said Elmer, with his own face as white as his father's.

"Then I think that's about enough," asserted Duncan, turning a
challenging eye in my direction.

"What are you going to