ut the tart into four pieces,
having an idea that the last slice would revert to him in the end.

They ate the pie and talked amicably over it, while in the end Dolf
received the extra piece by earnestly pressing it on his companions, who
in turn insisted upon his eating it himself.

"Mebby Sally'd like a taste," he said, virtuously.

"Sally, 'deed no!" cried Clo. "It's nuff fur her ter see such tings
widout eatin' 'em--a lazy, good-fur-notin' piece."

"Den ter 'blige yer I'll dispose of it," said Dolf, and he did so in
just three mouthfuls.

"If yer wants my 'pinion 'bout what's gwine on," said Clo, suddenly, as
she rose to pile up the dishes she had been using preparatory to making
poor Sally wash them in the kitchen; "it's jis' dis yer! Dis trouble's
all missus!"

"Missus!" repeated Vic.

"Now what does yer mean?" cried Dolf.

Clo nodded her head several times with gravity and precision.

"Yes, missis," she repeated, with the firmness of a person who meant
what she said, and was fully prepared to defend her opinion.

"What's come over her?" asked Vic.

"Dat's jis' it," returned Clo; "now you've hit it prezact--yer might
talk a week, Victy, and not come inter de pint agin."

Victoria looked at Dolf, and he looked at her, but, however convincing
her own words might have seemed to Clorinda, there was nothing to throw
any light upon their minds.

"Yer's repeatin' wid yer usual knowledge," said Dolf, softly, "but can't
yer sperficate a leetle more clear."

"Mr. Dolf," said Clorinda, rolling up her eyes 'till only the whites
were visible, "when I lives in a house de secrets ob dat house is locked
in my bussom--"

"But ter feller domestics," put in artful Dolf.

"Jis' 'mong us," said Vic.

"I know, I feels dat, and so I speak," replied Clo. "I ain't gwine ter
say Miss Mellen is a favoright ob mine, 'cause she ain't--but she's my
missus. Her ways isn't my ways, dat's all I says, and I hain't
recustomed to bein' brung up so sharp roun' de corners as is her way ter
do."

"Tain't ter be 'spected," said Dolf.

"Mebby 'tis and mebby 'tisn't," returned Clorinda; "I only says I ain't
recustomed to it, dat's all."

"But what do yer tinks happened ter her ter put 'em all in sich a
to-do?" questioned Victoria.

"I ain't prepared ter say ezzactly," replied Clo, "but I tink she's
gwine crossways wid marster and dat lubly angel, Miss Elsie. Dar's a
syrup fur ye! She nebber gubs a pusson orders widout eben look