t an' fryin'-pan an' dishes to the feller that
fetched 'er over heer an' moved 'er things. She intends to eat with
us."

Mrs. Slogan wrung her hands. "Something jest has to be done," she
said, "an' the Lord knows I don't know what it is. Do you reckon she's
dangerous, Peter?"

"She's yore sister, Clariss," he chuckled, in spite of the gravity of
the situation, "an' I'd hate to be in yore re'ch ef you wus to lose any
more uv yore mind. As it is, you--"

"I wish you'd shet up!" broke in his wife; "this ain't no time fer
foolishness."

Then they drew their chairs up to the fireplace and sat down. They
could still hear the old woman moving about, setting things to rights
in her room. Suddenly there was a great clatter of falling slats. The
bed had come down.

"She can't put that thing up by 'erself" suggested Peter. "Go in an'
he'p 'er."

"I'll do no sech a thing; do you reckon I want 'er to scratch my eyes
out? Huh! She hates me like a rattlesnake, an' has jest come heer so
she kin devil me to death. I see it now. She seed she wusn't worryin'
me much over thar in 'er ol' cabin, an' she's jest bent on gittin'
nigher."

"I reckon that's jest yore--yore conscience a-talkin'," opined Slogan.
"Thar's no gittin' round it, Clariss, you did sorter rub it in when
Sally wus alive. I often used to wonder how the old creetur managed to
put up with it; you kept ding-dongin' at 'er frum mornin' to night. Ef
she's cracked, yo're purty apt to have it read out to you frum the Book
o' Judgment."

Mrs. Slogan must have felt the truth of this accusation, for she voiced
no denial. The room across the passage suddenly became quiet. It was
evident that the bed was up; as a further evidence of this, Mrs. Dawson
was seen to go out to the wood-pile and fill her apron with chips and
return with them.

"She's got located," remarked Slogan. "She's a-goin' to set in now an'
make 'erse'f comfortable."

"She'll burn the house down over our heads," whined Mrs. Slogan. "Oh,
Peter, I'm not satisfied! I'm anything but."

The sun went down and night came on. Mrs. Slogan began to prepare
supper, casting, the while, frequent glances at the door opening on the
passage. Peter smoked pipe after pipe without being able to come to
any definite conclusion as to how to surmount the difficulty. Suddenly
he looked over his shoulder and tapped the heel of his shoe with his
pipe.

"You'd better cook enough fer three," was what he sa