A Crooked Path. Mrs. Alexander

you have sent me a message by Katherine which she has forgotten to deliver; so I thought—" Thus far the pretty little widow had proceeded when the children, catching sight of their auntie, sprang upon her with a cry of delight.

      "Who—who is this?" asked Mr. Liddell, compressing his thin lips and hissing out the words.

      "My brother's widow, Mrs. Fred Liddell," returned Katherine, who was kissing and fondling her nephews.

      "Did you invite her to come here?"

      "No, uncle."

      "Then explain to her that I do not receive visitors, especially relations, who have no claims upon me, and—and I particularly object to children."

      "I shall take my sister-in-law to my room for a little rest," returned Katherine, wounded by his manner, though greatly vexed with Ada for coming.

      "Ay, do, anywhere you like."

      But Mrs. Fred made a gallant attempt to stand her ground.

      "My dear sir, you must not be so unkind as to turn me out, when I have taken the trouble to come all this way on purpose to make your acquaintance. Let Katherine take away the children by all means—some people are worried with children—but let me stay and have a little talk with you."

      Mr. Liddell's only reply was to rise up. Gaunt, bent, his gray locks quivering with annoyance, and leaning on his stick, he slowly walked to the door, his eyes fixed with a cold glare on the intruder. At the door he turned, and addressing Katherine, said, "Let me know when she is gone;" then he disappeared into the hall.

      Little Charlie burst into tears. Cecil cried out, "You are a nasty, cross old man"; while Mrs. Fred grew very red, and exclaimed: "I never saw such a bear in all my life! Why, a crossing-sweeper would have better manners! I am astonished at you, Katie. How can you live with such a creature? But some people would do anything for money."

      "I am dreadfully sorry," said Katherine; "do come up to my room. If you had only told me you were coming I should have advised you against it. You must rest a while in my room."

      "I really do not think I will sit down in this house after the way in which I have been treated," said the irate widow, while she followed her sister-in-law upstairs.

      "Oh yes, do, mammy; I want to see the house," implored Cecil.

      "Why did you not tell me what a dreadful man he is, Katherine, and I should not have put myself in the way of being insulted?"

      "I think I told you enough to keep you away, Ada. What put it into your head to come?"

      "I scarcely know. I always intended it, and Colonel Ormonde said it was my duty to let him, Mr. Liddell, see the boys. I really did not want to come."

      "I wish Colonel Ormonde would mind his own affairs," cried Katherine. "I fancy he only talks for talking's sake."

      "That is all you know," indignantly; "he is a very clever man of the world, and I am fortunate in having such a friend to interest himself in me."

      "Oh, well, perhaps so. At all events, I am very glad to see the bays, and—you too, Ada. Charlie is very pale. Come here, Charlie."

      "Oh, auntie, is this your own, own room? Does the cross old man ever come here? Are all those books yours—and the funny little table with the crooked legs? Who is the man in a wig?" cried Cecil. "Mightn't we stay with you? we would be so quiet? Mother says we are dreffully troublesome since you went away. We could both sleep with you in that great big bed! The cross old gentleman would never know. It would be such fun! Do, do, let us stay, auntie!"

      "But I am afraid of the old gentleman," whispered the younger boy. "Does he ever hurt you, auntie dear? I wish you would come home."

      "Charlie is such a coward," said Cecil, with contempt.

      "Don't talk nonsense, children," exclaimed their mother, peremptorily. "I should die of fright if I thought you were left behind with that ogre. I wouldn't sacrifice my children for the sake of filthy lucre."

      "Do not talk nonsense, Ada?" said Katherine, impatiently. "I am infinitely distressed that my uncle should have behaved so rudely, but he is really eccentric, and if you had consulted—"

      "He is the boys' uncle as well as yours," interrupted Ada, indignantly. "Why should they not come and see him? How was I to suppose he was such an unnatural monster?"

      "I always told you he was very peculiar."

      "Peculiar! that is a delicate way of putting it. If I were you I should be ashamed of wasting my time and my youth acting servant to an old miser who will not leave you a sou!"

      "No, I don't suppose he will," returned Katherine, quietly. "Still, I am not the least ashamed of what I am doing; I am quite satisfied with my own motives."

      "Oh, you are always satisfied with yourself, I know," was the angry answer, "But"—with a slight change of tone—"I am sorry to see you look so pale and ill, though you deserve it."

      "Never mind, Ada. Take off your bonnet and sit down. I will get you a cup of tea."

      "Tea! no, certainly not! Do you think me so mean as to taste a mouthful of food in this house after being ordered out of it?"

      "Oh, I am so hungry!" cried Cecil, in mournful tones.

      "You are a little cormorant: Grannie will give you nice tea when we get home. Put on your gloves, children, I shall go at once."

      "Do come back with us, auntie," implored the boys. "Grannie wants you ever so much."

      "Not more than I want her," returned Katherine. "How is she, Ada?"

      "Oh, very well; just the same as usual. People who are not sensitive have a great deal to be thankful for. I feel quite upset by this encounter with your amiable relative, so I will say good-by."

      "Oh, wait for me; I will come with you. Let me put on my hat and tell Mr. Liddell I am going out."

      "Of course you must ask the master's leave!"

      "Exactly," returned Katherine, good-humoredly. And she put on her hat and gloves.

      "Well, I shall be glad of your guidance, for I hardly know my way back to where the omnibus starts. Such a horrible low part of the town for a man of fortune to live in! I wonder what Colonel Ormonde would say to it?"

      "I am sure I don't know," returned Kate, laughing. "Now come downstairs. If you go on I will speak to my uncle, and follow you."

      "I am sorry you have been annoyed," said Katherine, when having tapped at the door, Mr. Liddell desired her to "come in." He was standing at an old-fashioned bureau, the front of which let down to form a writing-desk and enclosed a number of various-sized drawers. He had taken out several packets of paper neatly tied with red tape and seemed to be rearranging them.

      "I am going to take my sister-in-law back to the omnibus; you may be sure she will never intrude again."

      "She shall not," he replied, turning to face her. Katherine thought how ghastly pale and pinched he looked. "I see the sort of creature she is—a doll that would sell her sawdust soul for finery and glitter; ay, and the lives of all who belong to her for an hour of pleasure."

      Katherine was shocked at his fierce, uncalled-for bitterness.

      "She has lived with us for more than a year and a half, and we have found her very pleasant and kind. Her children are dear, sweet things. You should not judge her so harshly."

      "You are a greater fool than I took you for," cried Mr. Liddell. "Go take them away, and mind they do not come back."

      Katherine hastened after her visitors and led them by a more direct route than they had traversed in coming. It took them past a cake shop, where she spent one of her few sixpences in appeasing her nephews' appetite, which, at least, with Cecil, grew with what it fed upon, in the matter of cakes.

      The children,