It was very quiet in the neighborhood that afternoon. There were no children to be seen anywhere, and on the broad piazza of the house where the Hazeltines lived the chairs and settees, with here and there a gay cushion, appeared to be having a good time all to themselves, gathered in sociable groups. The clematis and honeysuckle swung softly in the breeze, making graceful shadows, and the maple trees stretched out long arms and touched each other gently now and then. At the back of the house on the kitchen steps sat Aunt Sukey, a person of dignity and authority. Her hands were folded over her white apron and her eyes rested with satisfaction on the rows of peach preserves that represented her morning's work.

"Mammy," as the children called her, was a family institution, and could not be spared, though her last nursling was fast outgrowing her.

No preserves tasted like Sukey's, and no one could, on occasion, make such rolls.

"Yes," she remarked, continuing her conversation with Mandy, the cook, who was stepping around inside, "they's mischevious of course, but I can remember when Mr. Frank and Mr. William was a heap worse."

"Law, Aunt Sukey, I wouldn't want to see 'em if they was any worse than that Ikey Ford! It looks like the children has been up to twice as many pranks since he come," replied Mandy.

"He don't take after his pa, then; Mr. Isaac was as nice, quiet-mannered a boy as you ever see, when he used to go with Mr. Frank. But pshaw! all that triflin' is soon over. Look at Miss Zélie: seems like it warn't no time since she was climbin' fences and tearin' her clothes, till I'd get clean discouraged tryin' to keep her nice. Oh! they's fine children, I don't care what you say; and Louise is the flock of the flower. She is like Miss Zélie, with her dark eyes and shinin' hair."

"Miss Zélie herself sets more store by Carl than any of the rest," said Mandy, coming to the door.

"That's cause he favors his ma's family and has a look like his uncle Carl. You know Miss Zélie married Miss Elinor's brother. He used to come here for his holidays when she was a little girl no bigger 'n Bess,—that was after Mr. Frank married Miss Elinor,—and they was always great friends. It looks like it's mighty strange that Miss Elinor and Mr. Carl should be taken, and old Sukey left."

There was silence for a minute; then as Sukey wiped her eyes she continued, "I've nursed 'em all from Mr. William down, and I knows old master's grandchildren is bound to turn out right."

It was almost sunset when Aunt Zélie—tall and fair, like Bess's favorite heroines—came and stood in the front door, wondering where the children were. She was not left long in doubt, for hardly had she settled herself to enjoy the pleasant air when there was a sudden rush from somewhere and she was surrounded by a laughing, breathless little company. The outlaws of the morning were scarcely to be recognized. Little John and the sheriff of Nottingham were attired in the freshest of white dresses, with pink bows on their Gretchen braids, while Robin and the Friar were disguised as a pair of bright-faced modern boys, and with them was little Helen, a dignified person of eight, who carried a doll in her arms.

"Auntie, did you know that somebody is coming to live in the Brown house?" Louise asked, as they drew their chairs as close as possible to hers. At this time in the day she was their own special property, though there were people who complained that they always monopolized her.

"Yes, your father heard that a relative of old Mrs. Brown's was going to take the house, but that is all I know," she answered.

"Carl and Ikey saw a cross-looking woman with a feather duster. I do hope there will be some nice children," said Bess.

"All boys," Carl added briefly.

"Boys? No, indeed! Girls are much nicer, aren't they, Ikey?" and Louise looked at him mischievously over her shoulder.

Ikey's shyness or his politeness, perhaps both, would not allow him to reply.

"They are both nice when they are nice," said Aunt Zélie. "Being a girl myself, of course I like girls, and so does this individual," patting the head against her shoulder.

"Oh, I like some girls!" Carl conceded graciously.

"I wish there would be a little girl for me to play with," remarked Helen plaintively, for it was the trial of her life that she was considered too little to be made a companion of by the other children except on special occasions.

"It is a fortunate thing that the house is to be occupied," said Aunt Zélie, "for Mr. Jackson, the agent, told Frank that it looked as if some one had been camping out in the garden. The grass was trampled down and I don't know what damage done."

If she had not happened to be looking across the street she would have seen some guilty faces. Bess grew red, Louise opened her mouth and shut it again without saying anything, Carl drummed on the back of his chair with an air of extreme indifference which Ikey tried to copy, and Helen looked from one to the other with very big eyes.

The Fords' tea bell, rung at the front door for Ikey's benefit, relieved the strain. Then presently Louise saw her father and baby Carie coming up the street, and the Brown house was not mentioned again.

As Aunt Zélie was on her way upstairs that night she was waylaid in the dimly lighted hall by three ghostly figures.

"What are you doing out of bed?" she exclaimed.

"Oh, auntie, we want to tell you something! It is about the Brown house. We have been playing Robin Hood in the garden."

"It was a lovely place, and we didn't do any harm, really."

Aunt Zélie listened with just a little bit of a smile till she had heard the whole story. It had been great fun, there could be no doubt of that.

"Was it wrong?" asked Bess anxiously.

"We did not hurt anything, not one bit," Carl insisted.

"Why did you keep it such a secret?"

"That was part of the fun; but I wish we had told you," said Louise.

"Yes, it is nicer to have you know things;" and Bess sighed, relieved now that confession was made.

"It is too late to discuss it to-night, but I want you to think about it and decide for yourselves whether or not it was right."

"Did you know it before we told you?" Carl asked suddenly.

"I only guessed it to-day," she replied, smiling.

CHAPTER II.ToC

IN THE STAR CHAMBER.

There never lived a more genial, kindly man than old Judge Hazeltine, and the house he planned and built reflected, as perfectly as a house could, the character of its owner.

"The front door looks like the Judge," people used to say, laughing as they said it, for he was portly and the door was wide. But they meant more than just that, for there were few, even among the unimaginative, who did not feel drawn to that door. Hospitality shone from every panel, the big fanlight was like a genial sun, and the resemblance to his cheery face and cordial manner was not altogether fanciful.

Of the inside of the house perhaps it is enough to say at present that it kept the promise of the outside.

After the judge's death the old home fell to the share of the younger of his two sons, for the William Hazeltines had already built their fine mansion out on Dean avenue, where Aunt Marcia found things more suited to her fastidious taste than on the quiet street