Miss Pepper was the first to speak.

“Abishai Pepper,” she commanded, “come out of that this minute.”

Her answer was a tremendous sneeze.  Then from the dusky cloud by the wall sounded a voice feebly protesting.

“Now, Laviny,” began poor Kyan, “I never in my life—­”

“Do you hear me?  Come out of that!”

There was a sound of scrambling.  More soot floated in the air.  Then around the corner of the high-boy appeared Mr. Pepper, crawling on his hands and knees.  His hair was streaked with black; his shirt front and collar and shirt sleeves were spotted and smeared with black; and from his blackened cheeks his red whiskers flamed like the last glowing embers in a fire-scarred ruin.

“Laviny,” he panted, “I never was so surprised and upsot in all my life afore.”

This was too much for Grace.  She collapsed in a chair and laughed hysterically.  Even the wrathful Keziah smiled.  But Lavinia did not smile.  For that matter, neither did her brother.

“Hum!” sneered Miss Pepper.  “Upsot!  Yes, I see you’re upsot.  Get up, and try to look as much like a Christian as you can!”

Kyan rose from his knees to his feet and rubbed his back.  He glanced reproachfully at Grace, then fearfully at his sister.

“I was just tryin’ to help Keziah take down her stovepipe,” he explained.  “You see, she didn’t have no man to—­”

“Yes, I see.  Well, I judge you got it down.  Now you go out to the sink and wash your face.  Heavens and earth!  Look at them clothes!”

“I do hope you didn’t hurt yourself, Abishai,” said the sympathetic Keziah.  Then, as remembrance of what had led to the upset came to her, she added:  “Though I will say ’twas your own fault and nobody else’s.”

Lavinia whirled on her.

“His own fault, was it?” she repeated, her voice shrill and trembling.  “Thank you very much, marm.  I cal’late ‘twas his own fault comin’ here, too, wa’n’t it?  Nobody led him on, I s’pose.  Nobody put him up to riggin’ out in his best bib and tucker and sneakin’ here the minute I was out of the house.  No, nobody did!  Of course not!”

“No, nobody did,” said Keziah briskly.  “And you may know what you’re hintin’ at, but I don’t.”

“Dear me!  Ain’t we innocent!  We’ve got plenty of money, we have.  Widowers with property ain’t no attraction to us.  Everybody knows that—­oh, yes!  And they never talk of such a thing—­oh, no!  Folks don’t say that—­that—­Well,” with a snarl in the direction of the kitchen, “are you anywheres nigh clean yet?  Get your coat and hat on and come home with me.”

She jerked her brother into the blue coat, jammed the tall hat down upon his head, and, seizing him by the arm, stalked to the door.

“Good day, marm,” she said.  “I do hope the next widower you get to take down your stovepipe—­yes, indeed! ha! ha!—­I hope you’ll have better luck with him.  Though I don’t know who ’twould be; there ain’t no more idiots in town that I know of.  Good day, and thank you kindly for your attentions to our family.”