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got a white skin. An' the only heaven they want's one got a sign on it ten foot high, 'No Niggers Allowed in Here.'"

"Lord, 'Mis' King, there they come. An' me settin' here talkin'. I bet them 'taters done boiled to death!"

Mrs. Plummer rocked briskly in the chair wherein she had rested her weary frame. The needed momentum gained, she heaved her bulky person to her feet and disappeared in the general direction of the kitchen as through the open door Mr. Robertson's hearty voice came: "Well, folks, here we are!" . . .

Mimi and Jean and Mary climbed down from the Surrey and entered the house. Mrs. Plummer, her potatoes looked after with incredible speed considering her size, greeted them as though she were welcoming them into her own home.

"Come right in! Come right in! I know you must be as tired as all-out-doors. My name's Mrs. Plummer—I live right down the street and Mr. Robertson got me to sorter fix things up———" she poured forth.

"Mrs. King! Mrs. King!" she called. Mrs. King hastened from the kitchen, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand as she came, scanning the arrivals from head to foot in one swift, critical—very critical—glance.

"This is Mrs. King," introduced Mrs. Plummer grandly. "She was nice enough to help too."

Mrs. King nodded in rapid succession to the three, adding one for Mr. Robertson though she had seen him only an hour before. He had employed only Mrs. Plummer to clean up the house and arrange everything but it had not been a difficult matter to persuade Mrs. King to assist—it gave both women ample opportunity to examine at their leisure each piece of furniture and to speculate on its probable cost.

Without taking off her hat, Mme. Daquin (Mrs. Plummer called her Mrs. Day-queen) rushed from room to room of the two-storied house. On the first floor there was a living-