The Secret of the Storm Country

Indignation at her husband's injustice burnt a red spot in Helen's cheeks and kindled a flame of unusual animation in her placid blue eyes.

"You know better, Ebenezer," she retorted. "Forrie's given her a father's care, and every one worth while honors him for it."

Frederick, kept in his attitude of tense attention by a sudden revival of his jealousy of Young, sighed audibly and settled back in his chair.

"I'm glad to hear you say that, Helen," he said earnestly.

"Oh, are you, Fred?" cried Madelene. "So your old interest in that girl isn't dead, yet? Well, all I can say is, I am sorry she didn't get you, but I'll bet she's glad, now, she didn't."

Waldstricker looked keenly from the speaker to her husband. But Frederick had again put on his mask of apathetic indifference and answered his wife's gibe only by a shrug of his shoulders. Noting her brother's scowling face, she went on maliciously.

"You'd better keep away from the lake place, my dear husband, or you'll have both Ebbie and Forrie after you."

"Will you have your tea now, Madelene?" Helen was alarmed at the threatened tempest, and hoped to change the subject.

"Yes, thanks, dear," and to her brother, "After all, Ebbie, Forrie probably knows his own business best. You know he's quite partial to the squatters and always did things for 'em."

Mrs. Waldstricker summoned the servant, and while the dishes were being removed, Ebenezer sat and glowered from Frederick, white and distrait, to his wife, who was explaining to Madelene the way she'd made the salad dressing. When the servant had gone, Waldstricker began again.

"I'm out of patience with Deforrest! If he'd let me alone, I'd had all the squatters off the lake side before this and probably would have located Bishop."

"You've heard nothing of him, Ebbie, I suppose?" asked Madelene. "It does seem queer a dwarf could disappear like that and not a word about him from any part of the world."

Waldstricker's powerful hand clenched the teaspoon in his fingers so violently as to bend the handle.

"No, I haven't," he growled. "I've a notion he's being harbored by some of the squatters. But I want Deforrest to understand this--"

"Oh, let's talk of something else besides squatters," cried Madelene. "Helen, your salad was divine.... Tell me, Ebbie, how you enjoy little Elsie. I think she's lovely."

"Lovely!" he repeated in a very different tone. "Lovely is no word for that child. She's an angel, isn't she, Helen?"

Helen smiled dubiously.

"An angel, very much spoiled, I fear."

"No such thing," argued Waldstricker, glad of an opportunity to air his favorite theory. "Now Helen thinks the child's spoiled because she drops on the floor and kicks and cries until she gets what she wants. I tell her it's human nature, and perfectly right for my child to have her own way. Thank God, there's nothing in the world she can't have."