he utmost horror. Brindlebury did
not stop packing. He was now filling in the corners with shaving soap
and socks.

His sister turned to Crane.

"Oh, sir," she wailed, "we've acted very wrongly."

"Jane-Ellen," replied Crane, "that really doesn't go. It was a good
manner, and you worked it well, but it is now, if you will forgive my
saying so, old stuff. I cannot look upon you as a foolishly fond sister,
trying to protect an erring brother. I think it far more likely that you
are the organizer of this efficient little plan to keep him here
unobserved, eating my food, reading my books, and smoking, if I am not
greatly mistaken, my cigarettes."

"Oh, Brin, do you take Mr. Crane's cigarettes?" said Jane-Ellen.

"Not unless I'm out of my own," said her brother.

"Without clearing his own honesty, he impugns my taste," said Crane.

It was plain that Jane-Ellen was going to make another effort to improve
the situation. She was thinking hard. At last she began:

[Illustration: At the sight of Crane, Jane-Ellen stopped with a gesture
of the utmost horror]

"I don't defend what we've done, sir, but if you would have let me see
you alone this afternoon, I was going to ask that Brindlebury might stay
just for this one night. Only I couldn't speak before Mr. Tucker, I'm so
afraid of him."

"There you go again," said Burton. "You're not telling the truth. You're
not in the least afraid of Tucker."

"Well, not as much as I am of you, sir."

"Jane-Ellen," said Crane, "I believe you are a very naughty girl." He
was surprised to find that every trace of ill temper had left him.

"I know what you mean, sir," said the cook, and this time her voice had
a certain commonplace tone. "And it's true. I haven't always been
perfectly honest with you, but a servant can't be candid and open, sir;
you know, yourself, it wouldn't do."

"I'd like to see it tried," returned Crane.

"Well, I'm honest now, sir," she went on, "in asking you to let Brin
stay. He'll apologize, I'm sure--"

"I will not," said the boy, still packing.

But his sister hardly noticed the interruption.

"He will do what I tell him when he comes to think it over, if you will
only relent. Don't you think you are just a little hard on him? He is my
brother, and it would make me so happy if you would let him stay."

The desire to make others happy is not a crime, yet Crane felt nothing
but shame at the obvious weakening of his own resolution under the
peculiar