with Nickey that she knew of. Then
Mary Sam wrote me the impudentest letter I ever got; and she came
right back, and stayed two months instead of one, just to be mean. But
that sign's done good service since. I've scared off agents and tramps
by the score. I always hang it in the parlor window when I'm away from
home."

"But suppose your house caught fire while you were away?"

"Well, I've thought of that; but there's worse things than fire if
your insurance is all right."

Mrs. Burke relapsed into silence for a while, until Maxwell opened a
box of embroidered stoles, which he spread out on the bed for her
inspection.

"My! but aren't those beautiful! I never saw the like before. Where
did you get 'em?"

"They were made by the 'Sisters of St. Paul' in Boston."

Hepsey gazed at the stoles a long time in silence, handling them
daintily; then she remarked:

"I used to embroider some myself. Would you like to see some of it?"

"Certainly, I should be delighted to see it," Donald responded; and
Mrs. Burke went in search of her work.

Presently she returned and showed Maxwell a sample of her
skill--doubtless intended for a cushion-cover. To be sure it was a bit
angular and impressionistic. Like Browning's poems and Turner's
pictures, it left interesting room for speculation. To begin with,
there was a dear little pink dog in the foreground, having convulsions
on purple grass. In the middle-distance was a lay-figure in orange,
picking scarlet apples from what appeared to be a revolving
clothes-horse blossoming profusely at the ends of each beam. A little
blue brook gurgled merrily up the hill, and disappeared down the other
side only to reappear again as a blue streak in an otherwise
crushed-strawberry sky. A pumpkin sun was disappearing behind emerald
hills, shooting up equidistant yellow rays, like the spokes of a
cart-wheel. Underneath this striking composition was embroidered the
dubious sentiment "There is no place like home."

Maxwell examined carefully the square of cross-stitch wool embroidery,
biting his lip; while Hepsey watched him narrowly, chuckling quietly
to herself. Then she laughed heartily, and asked:

"Confess now; don't you think it's beautiful?"

Donald smiled broadly as he replied:

"It's really quite wonderful. Did you do it yourself?"

"To be sure I did, when I was a little girl and we used to work in
wool from samplers, and learn to do alphabets. I'm glad you appreciate
it. If you wo