“Come out o’ there,” the old man commanded, close behind her.

“It’s lovely under here,” the child answered; “I’d rather stay.”

“Phwat in th’ name o’ Hiven have ye been doin’?”

“Playing tournament, Riley,” came back the voice from under the bed.  “It’s a splendid game.  Do you want to learn it some time?”

“‘Tis mesel’ has sumthin’ to learn ye,” he retorted.  “Come out o’ there, I say.”

“I couldn’t think of it.  I’m tired.”

“Well, ye oughter be—­smashin’ up th’ furnichure, an’ makin’ a noise like a wake.  Wait ’til I gits hold iv ye.”

“You are a foreign tyrant, Riley—­I shall never yield to you.”

“Furrin fiddlesticks—­I’ll lave th’ whole mess f’r ye’er mother ter see when she gits home, d’ye mind.”

“All right, Riley; I’ll wait for her here.”

Again the old man retreated, his indignation increasing as he waited for the return of the motor-party.  Mrs. Gorham was given no opportunity even to remove her wraps before she was solemnly led to the scene of the disaster.  Allen and Alice followed close behind, ignorant of the nature of the calamity, but feeling certain by Riley’s manner that it was a serious one.  They gazed for a moment at the wreck before them.

“What has happened, Riley?” Eleanor cried, anxiously.

“It looks as if a vacuum-cleaner had been at work,” volunteered Allen.

The old man’s emotions were so strong that he could scarcely speak.

“What has happened?” again demanded Eleanor.

“Miss Pat,” was all that Riley could articulate.

“But where is she—­has she been hurt?”

“No, ma’am; but she done it.  She’s under th’ bed in ye’er room.”

The entire party rushed to the bedroom, not knowing what they might find.  Mrs. Gorham knelt on the floor and raised the counterpane.  There lay the Disinherited Knight, fast asleep, exhausted from her first jousting victories.

“Pat!” cried Eleanor, “are you all right?”

“Hello, mamma Eleanor,” she answered, sweetly; “is Riley after you, too?”

VI

Mr. Gorham studied Allen carefully during dinner.  What Eleanor had told him of the boy interested him, and his intimate knowledge of Stephen Sanford’s personality made him a more sympathetic adviser than might otherwise have been the case.  Allen, too, was distinctly attracted by Gorham, though his eyes rested more often on the girl facing him across the small table, who seemed even more lovely to him now, in a soft, clinging gown of exquisite texture.  His memory of Gorham had been indistinct, but he had heard so much of him through his father and others during these intervening years that he was prepared to see a man who would intimidate him by his severity and awe him by the manifestation of his greatness.  In fact, associating business success with his father’s