“Let me alone!” he roared; “’taint fair; old Travilla’s half killed me already.”

“I’m glad of it!  You ought to be half killed, and you won’t get any sympathy from me, I can tell you.”

“And you had a share in it too, Walter?” Mrs. Conly was saying in freezing tones.  “If you think he deserves any more than you gave him, Cal, you have my full permission to repeat the dose.”

“Where is the cause of all this unseemly disturbance?” demanded Mr. Dinsmore severely.  “Calhoun, if you have the key of that closet and those wretched disguises are there, produce them at once.”

The young man obeyed, while Enna, holding Dick fast, turned a half frightened look upon her sister; to which the latter, standing with her arms folded and her back braced against the wall, replied with one of cold, haughty indifference.

Calhoun drew out the obnoxious articles and held them up to view, a flush of mortification upon his face.

The children screamed and ran.

“Be quiet! they can’t hurt you,” said the grandfather, stamping his foot; then turning to Calhoun, “Ku Klux—­your property and Arthur’s, I presume, you are members doubtless?” and he glanced from one to the other of his older grandsons in mingled anger and scorn; Arthur having just entered the room to ascertain the cause of the unusual commotion.

He flushed hotly at his grandsire’s words and look.  “I, sir!  I a Ku Klux?” he exclaimed in a hurt, indignant tone, “I a midnight assassin stealing upon my helpless victims under cover of darkness and a hideous disguise?  No, sir.  How could you think so ill of me?  What have I done to deserve it?”

“Nothing, my boy; I take it all back,” said the old gentleman, with a grim smile, “it is not like you—­a quiet bookish lad, with nothing of the coward or the bully about you.  But you, Calhoun?”

“I have no property in these, sir; and I should scorn to wear one, or to take part in the deeds you have spoken of.”

“Right.  I am no Republican, and was as strong for secession as any man in the South, but I am for open, fair fight with my own enemies or those of my country; no underhand dealings for me; no cowardly attacks in overwhelming numbers upon the weak and defenceless.  But if these disguises are not yours, whose are they? and how came they here?”

“I must beg leave to decline answering that question, sir,” replied Calhoun respectfully.

His mother and aunt exchanged glances.

“Ah!” exclaimed their father, turning to Enna, as with a sudden recollection, “I think I heard you claiming some property in these scarecrows speak out; are they yours?”

“No, sir; but I’m not ashamed to own that I helped to make them, and that if I were a man, I would wear one.”

“You? you helped make them? and who, pray, helped you?  Louise—­”

“Yes, sir, Louise it was,” replied Mrs. Conly drawing herself up to her full height, “and she is no more ashamed to own it, than is her sister.  And if Calhoun was a dutiful son he would be more than willing to wear one.”