The children thumped merrily over the stairs. It was clear that they
stood in no great fear of their mother's chastisement. They knew by
experience that her hand was very soft, and the force of its fall
tempered by mirth and tender considerateness; their grandmother's
fleshless and muscular old palm was another matter.

Soon after Flora followed them there was a series of arduous cries,
apparently maintained more from a childish sense of the fitness of
things than from any actual stress of pain. They soon ceased.

"She ain't half whipped 'em," Mrs. Lowe, who was listening
downstairs, said to herself.

The lawyer was in his office; he had intrenched himself there as soon
as possible, covering his retreat with the departure of his guests.

Mrs. Field and Lois, removed from it all the distance of tragedy from
comedy, were walking up the street to the Maxwell house. Mrs. Field
stalked ahead with her resolute stiffness; Lois followed after her,
keeping always several paces behind. No matter how often Mrs. Field,
sternly conscious of it, slackened her own pace, Lois never gained
upon her.

When they reached the gate at the entrance of the Maxwell grounds,
and Mrs. Field stopped, Lois spoke up.

"What place is this?" said she, in a defiantly timorous voice.

"The Maxwell house," replied her mother, shortly, turning up the