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The aunts looked up from their fascinated, horrified stare at their grand-niece to see the two doors on the opposite sides of the room open and a figure standing in each. In the doorway of the front hall stood David, perplexed, dismayed, eagerly seeking an answer in his wife's face; in the doorway of the pantry stood Miranda, arms akimbo, nostrils spread, eyes blazing, like a very war horse that she was, snuffing the battle from afar, and only waiting to be sure how the land lay.

For a moment nobody could say anything for Rose's sobs drowned all else. Marcia had all she could do to soothe and quiet the excited child who had been so strained up for a few minutes that she was now like a runaway team going down hill and unable to stop.

David had sense enough to keep still until the air cleared, and meantime he studied the faces of each one in the room, not forgetting Miranda, and was able to get a pretty clear idea of how matters stood before anybody explained.

Presently, however, Rose subsided into low convulsive sobs smothered in her mother's arms, as Marcia drew the little girl down into her lap in the big armed chair, and laying her lips against the hot wet cheek, said softly:

"There, there, mother's dear child, get calm, little girl, get calm. Get control of yourself."

The sudden lull gave opportunity for speech, and Miss Amelia, much shaken in body if not in mind, hastened to avail herself of it.

"You may well ask what this means, David," she began, gathering her forces for the combat, and reaching out to steady her trembling hand on the back of a chair.

"Sit down, Aunt Amelia," said David hastening to bring forward two chairs, one for each of the old ladies. "Sit down and don't excite yourself. There's plenty of time to explain."

"Thank you," said Miss Amelia drawing herself up to her full height, "I prefer to stand until I have explained my part in this disgraceful scene. I want you to understand that what I have said has been wholly disinterested. I have been merely trying to protect you and your child from the thoughtless folly of one whose youth must excuse her for her conduct. Your wife, David, has been admitting to the company of your innocent daughter a person wholly unfit to mingle in respectable society. He came in to-night while we were here, a rough, ill-bred, lubberly fellow, whose familiarity was an insult to your home. I was merely informing Marcia what kind of a boy he was when Rose broke out into the most shocking screams and cries, and used the most disrespectful language toward me, showing plainly the result of her companionship with evil; and not only that but she expressed herself in terms that were unmaidenly and unseemly for a girl, almost a woman, to use. Your mother would never have allowed herself to so far forget herself as to say that she loved —actually loved, David,—that was the word she used,—a boy. And that too a boy who only needs a few more years to become a hardened criminal. I refer to that scapegrace of a son of Nathan Whitney. And she dared to call him hers—my Nathan, she said, and was most impudent in her address to me. I think that she should be punished severely and never be allowed to see that young wretch again. I am sure you will bear me out in feeling that I have been outraged——”

But now Rose's sobs dominated everything again, heartbroken and indignant, and Marcia had much ado to keep the child from breaking away from her and rushing from the room. David looked from one to another of his excited relatives and prepared to pour oil on the troubled waters.

"Just a minute. Aunt Amelia," he said coolly as soon as he could be heard. "I think there has been a little misunderstanding here——”

"No misunderstanding at all, David," said the old lady severely drawing herself up with dignity again. "I assure you there is no possible chance for misunderstanding. Your wife actually professes fondness for this young scapegrace, calls his wickedness mischief; and tries to condone his faults, when everybody knows he has been the worst boy in the town for years. I told her that I should inform you of all this and demand for the sake of the family honor that you never allow that fellow! that loafer! that low-down scoundrel!! to enter this home again or speak to our grand-niece in the street."

^Miss Amelia was trembling with rage and insulted pride, and purple in the face. At this juncture Miranda beat a hasty retreat to the pantry window.

"Golly!" she ejaculated softly to herself. "Golly! wouldn't that old lady make a master hand at cussin' ef she jest didn't hev so much fambly pride! Golly! she couldn't think of words 'nough to call 'im."

Miranda stood for a full minute chuckling and thinking and staring at the sky that was just beginning to redden with the sunset. Words from the other room hastened her thinking. Then with cool deliberation she approached the door again to reconnoitre and take a hand in the battle.

David was just speaking: "Aunt Amelia, suppose we lay the subject aside for a time. I feel that I am fully capable of dealing with it. I have entire confidence in anything that Marcia has done, and I am sure you will have also when you hear her side of the matter. Rose doubtless is overwrought. She is very fond of this boy, for he has been her playmate for a long time, and has been very gallant and loyal to her in many ways—”

But Miss Amelia was not to be appeased. Two red flames of wrath stood upon her thin cheek-bones, a declaration of war; and two swords glanced from her sharp black eyes. Her bony old hands grasped the back of the chair shakily, and her whole body trembled. Her thin lips shook nervously, and caught dryly on her teeth in an agitated way as she tried to enunciate her words with extreme dignity and care.

"No, David, we will not lay the subject aside," she said, "and I shall never feel confidence in Marcia's judgment after what she has said to me about that young villain. I must insist on telling you the whole story. I cannot compromise with sin!"

And then, Miranda discreetly approached with a smile of honeyed sweetness on her freckled face.

"Miss 'Meelia, 'scuse me fer interruptin', but it wasn't your spare-bedroom winders I see open when I went by this afternoon was it? You don't happen t' emember ef you left 'em open when you come away, do yeh? Cause I thought I sensed a thunder storm in the air, an' I thought mebbe you'd like me to run down the street an' close 'em fer you, ef you did. Miss Clarrissa's all alone, ain't she?"

"A thunder storm!" said Miss Amelia stiffening into attention at once, alarm bristling from every loop of ribbon on her best black bonnet. "We must go home at once! I never like to be away from home in a thunder storm; one can never tell what may happen. Come, let us make haste."

"A thunder storm!" said David incredulously, and then catching the innocent look on Miranda's face stopped suddenly. The sky was as clear as an evening bell and a single star glinted out at that moment as the two old ladies issued hastily forth from their nephew's door, but they saw it not ; and David, reflecting that there was more than one kind of a thunder storm said nothing. It might be as well to let the atmosphere clear before he took a hand in affairs.

"Shall I walk down with you, Aunt Amelia?" he asked half doubtfully, glancing back toward the stairs up which Marcia had just taken the sobbing Rose.

"No indeed, David," said Miss Amelia decidedly. "Your duty is to your family at such a time as this. One never can tell what may happen, as I said before, and my sister and myself can look out for ourselves."

They closed the door and hurried away down the walk.

Miranda stood at the side gate with bland benevolence on her features.

"You got plenty o' time," she said smilingly. "You ain't got any call to hurry. It'll be quite a spell 'fore the storm gets here. I'm a pretty good weather profit."

"It is not best to take chances," said Aunt Hortense looking up nervously at the rosy sky, "appearances are often deceitful, and there are a great many windows to close for the night."

They swept on down, the street and Miranda watched them a moment with satisfaction. Then she looked over at the white-pillared house across the way and frowned. The mother in her trembled at the injustice done the boy she had grown to love.

"There's some folks has a good comeuppance comin' to 'em somewheres or I miss my guess," she murmured as she turned slowly toward the kitchen door, and began to wonder what Mr. David would think of her. Mr. David was too sharp to be deceived long about a thunderstorm, and she would not like to incur his disfavour for she worshipped him afar.

Miranda went into the house and made herself scarce for a little while, moving conspicuously among her pots and pans, and voicing her hilarity in a hymn the church choir had sung the day before. But David was for the present quite occupied upstairs. The trembling Rose, now fully subdued and quite horrified at what she had dared to say to her aunts, toward whom she had always been taught the utmost respect, lay on her little bed with white and tear-stained face, her body now and then convulsed with a shivering sob. She had confessed her sins quite freely after her aunts had departed, and had agreed that the only thing possible was an abject apology on the morrow, but her sweet drooping mouth and long fluttering lashes betokened that her trouble was not all gone and at last she brought it out in a soft sobbing breath.

“Nathan won't come here any more. I know he 'won't. I saw it in his face. He'll think you don't want and he'll never come round again. He's always that way. He thinks people don't like him——" and she began to cry softly again.

David went and sat down beside his little girl and to question her. Sometimes Marcia would put in a gentle word, and the eyes of the father and mother met over the child in sweet confidence, with utmost sympathy for her in her childish grief, although they had not condoned one whit the words she had spoken in her quick wrath to her aunts.

"Well, little daughter, close up the tears now," said the father. "To-morrow you will go down to see your aunts and make it all right with them by telling them how sorry and ashamed you are that you lost your temper and spoke disrespectfully to them. But you leave Nathan to me. I want to get acquainted with him. He must be worth knowing from all you have said."

"Oh, father, you dear, dear father!" exclaimed Rose ecstatically, springing up to throw her arms about his neck. "Will you truly get acquainted with him? Oh, you are such a good dear father!"

“I surely will," said David stooping to kiss her. "Now get up and wash your face for supper, and we'll see what can be done."

A whispered conference in the hall for a moment with Marcia sent David downstairs as eagerly as a boy might have gone, and Miranda's heart was in her mouth for a full minute when she looked up from the Johnny-cake she was making for supper and saw him standing in the kitchen door. She thought a reprimand must surely be forthcoming.

"Miranda, have you got a good supper cooking, and do you think there would be enough for a guest if I brought one in?"

"Loads!" said Miranda alertly drawing a deep breath of relief and beating her eggs with vigor. "How many of 'em?"

“Only one, and I’m not sure of him yet, but you might put another plate on the table,” said David, and taking his hat from the hall table went out the front door.

Miranda put her dish of eggs down on the kitchen table and tiptoed softly into the dining-room where the window commanded a view of the street. The candles were not yet lighted so she could not be seen from without, and curiosity was too much for her. She saw David walk across the street to the big pillared Whitney house, and just as he reached the gate she saw a dark figure that walked very much like young Nate, come swinging down the street and meet him. They stood at the gate a minute or two talking, those two shadowy figures, and then David turned and walked back to the house, and the boy scurried around to his own back door. Miranda scuttled back to her eggs with happy heart and was beating away serenely when David opened the kitchen door to say:

"Well, he'll be here in half an hour. Be sure to have plenty of jam and cake." Then David went into the library, took out the New York evening paper, and was soon deeply engrossed in the last reports of Professor Morse's new Electro-Magnetic Telegraph, in the interest of which there was a bill before Congress appropriating thirty thousand dollars for its testing. It was one of the absorbing topics of the day, and David forthwith forgot not only his guest but the unpleasant happenings that had caused him to give the invitation, and Miranda in the kitchen hurrying about to stir up some tea-cakes and get out a varied assortment of preserves and jams such as boys are supposed to like, need have feared no reference to thunder storms, as she sang her hymns loud and clear:

"My willing soul would stay

In such a frame as this,

And wait to hail the brighter day

Of everlasting bliss."

Rose presently came down to the kitchen, chastened and sweet, her eyes like forget-me-nots after the rain, her cheeks rosy. Miranda gave her a little hotcake just out of the pan and patted the soft check tenderly. She dared not openly speak against the prim aunts who had brought all this trouble on her darling, but her looks pitied and petted Rose and assured her that she did not blame her darling for anything hateful she might have said to those old spitfires. Rose took the sympathy, but did not presume upon it, and her lashes down-drooped humbly over the rose in her cheeks. She knew now that she had been very sinful to speak so to poor Aunt Amelia no matter how excited she had been. Aunt Amelia of course did not know Nathan as she did and therefore could not get the right point of view. Aunt Amelia had done it all for what she thought was her good. That was what Mother Marcia had tried to make her little girl feel.

Rose, her cake eaten, walked around the pleasant dining table ;and noted the festive air of jams and preserves, the sprigged china, and the extra place opposite her own.

“Oh, is there going to be company?” questioned Rose half dismayed.

“Your pa said there might be,” said Miranda unconcernedly, trying not to show how glad she was.

“Who?”

“Your pa didn’t say who,” answered Miranda, just as if she had not seen those shadowy figures conversing outside the Whitney gate.

Rose slid into the library and sat down on the arm of her father’s chair, putting down a soft arm round his neck and laying her cheek against his.

“Father, Miranda says there is to be company to-night?” She laid the matter before him seriously.

"Yes," said David rousing out of his perusal of the various methods of insulating wires. "Yes, Rosy-posy, Nathan Whitney is coming to supper. I thought I'd like to begin to get acquainted with him at once."

"Oh, father dear! You dear, dear father!" cried Rose, hugging him with all her might.

Mother Marcia came smiling downstairs, and just as Miranda was taking up the golden brown loaves of Johnny-cake Nathan presented himself, shy and awkward but with eyes that fairly danced with pleasure and anticipation. He had done his best to put himself in festive array and was good to look upon as he stood waiting beside his chair at the table with the candlelight from the sconces above the mantle shining on his short chestnut curls. He seemed to Rose suddenly to have grown old and tall, all dressed up in his Sunday clothes, with his hair brushed, and his high collar and neck-cloth like a man. She gazed at him half in awe as she slipped into her chair and folded her hands for the blessing.

It was a strange sensation for Nathan, sitting there with bowed head before that dainty table loaded with tempting good things, listening to the simple strong words of the grace; the fire-light and the candle-light playing together over the hush of the room; the little girl who had been his pet and playmate in her pretty frock of blue and white with her gold curls bowed — he could just see the sheen of gold in her hair as he raised his eyes in one swift comprehensive glance; Miranda standing at the kitchen door with a steaming dish in her hand and her head bowed decorously, its waves of shining hair like burnished copper; and the gracious sweet lady-mother whom he adored, there by his side. Strange thrills of hot and cold crept over his body, and his breath came slowly lest it sound too loud. This was actually the first time in his life that Nathan Whitney had ever taken a meal at any other home than his own!

Meals a-many he had eaten out of a tin pail on his old scarred desk in school, or down by the brook in summer; more meals he had gone without, or taken on the road, of cold pieces hastily purloined in absence of his aunt or step-mother, but never before had he been invited to supper and sat at a beautiful table with snowy linen, silver and china and all the good things people give to company. All this in his honor! He was almost frightened at himself. Not that he was unaccustomed to nice things, for there was plenty of fine linen, rare china, and silver in the great house across the way, but it had not been used familiarly since his mother's death; and was mostly brought out for company occasions, on which occasions it had been young Nathan's habit to absent himself, because the company always seemed to look at him as if he had no right in his father's house.