Polly, too, joined in with her tears and prayers, saying, “She was an old black fool anyway, and let her tongue get the better on her, though she didn’t mean to say more than was true, and reckoned she hadn’t.”

In his heart Mr. Hamilton wished to revoke what he had said, but dread of the explosive storm which he knew would surely follow made him irresolute, until Carrie said, “Father, the first person of whom I have any definite recollection is Aunt Polly, and I shall be so lonesome if she goes away.  For my sake let her stay, at least until I am dead.”

This decided the matter.  “She shall stay,” said Mr. Hamilton, and Aunt Polly, highly elated, returned to the kitchen with the news.  Lenora, who seemed to be everywhere at once, overheard it, and, bent on mischief, ran with it to her mother.  In the meantime Mr. Hamilton wished, yet dreaded, to go down, and finally, mentally cursing himself for his weakness, asked Margaret to accompany him.  She was about to comply with his request, when Mrs. Hamilton came up the stairs, furious at her husband, whom she called “a craven coward, led by the nose by all who chose to lead him.”  Wishing to shut out her noise, Mag closed and bolted the door, and in the hall the modern Xantippe extended her wrath against her husband and his offspring, while poor Mr. Hamilton laid his face in Carrie’s lap and wept.  Margaret was trying to devise some means by which to rid herself of her stepmother, when Lenora was heard to exclaim: 

“Shall I pitch her over the stairs, Mag?  I will if you say so.”

Immediately Mrs. Hamilton’s anger took another channel, and turning upon her daughter, she said, “What are you here for, you prating parrot?  Didn’t you tell me what Aunt Polly said, and haven’t you acted in the capacity of reporter ever since?”

“To be sure I did,” said Lenora, poising herself on one foot, and whirling around in circles; “but if you thought I did it because I blamed Aunt Polly, you are mistaken.”

“What did you do it for, then?” said Mrs. Hamilton; and Lenora, giving the finishing touch to her circles by dropping upon the floor, answered, “I like to live in a hurricane—­so I told you what I did.  Now, if you think it will add at all to the excitement of the present occasion, I’ll get an ax for you to split the door down.”

“Oh, don’t, Lenora,” screamed Carrie, from within, to which Lenora responded: 

“Poor little simple chick bird, I wouldn’t harm a hair of your soft head for anything.  But there is a man in there, or one who passes for a man, that I think would look far more respectable if he’d come out and face the tornado.  She’s easy to manage when you know how.  At least Mag and I find her so.”

Here Mr. Hamilton ashamed of himself and emboldened, perhaps, by Lenora’s words, slipped back the bolt of the door, and walking out, confronted his wife.

“Shall I order pistols and coffee for two?” asked Lenora, swinging herself entirely over the bannister, and dropping like a squirrel on the stair below.