herself to oppose him. The furniture was old and most of it was broken.
The large easy chair in the sitting room was almost disembowelled, and
springs showed through the sofa, except in the middle, where there was a
cavernous depression. Several really fine paintings adorned the walls,
and the dingy mantel was glorified by exquisite bits of Cloisonne and
iridescent glass, for which Juliet had a pronounced fancy.

"Set the table, will you, Romie?" called Juliet, tying a large blue
gingham apron over her sweater. "I'm almost starved."

"So'm I, but I've got to feed the dogs first."

"Let 'em wait," pleaded Juliet. "Please do!"

"Don't be so selfish! They're worse off than we are, for they haven't
even had tea."

While the pack fought, outside, for rib bones and raw steak, Juliet
opened a can of salmon, fried some potatoes, put a clean spoon into a
jar of jam, and cut a loaf of bread into thick slices. When Romeo came
in, he set the table, made coffee, and opened a can of condensed milk.
They disdained to wash dishes, but cleared off the table, after supper,
lighted the lamp, and talked automobile until almost midnight.

In less than an hour, Romeo had completed the plans for remodelling the
barn. They had no horse, but as a few bits of harness remained from the
last equine incumbent, they usually alluded to the barn as "the bridle
chamber."

"We'll have to name the barn again," mused Juliet, "and we can name the