“S-s-sh! s-sh-h!” he hissed.  “Hush! be still!  Don’t get her in here.  Keziah, you’re single and so am I. You ain’t got nobody to take care of you and I ain’t, neither—­that is, I don’t want to be took care of—­I mean, I’ve been took care of too much.”

Mrs. Coffin took another step in the direction of the kitchen.

“He is loony!” she exclaimed under her breath.  “I—­”

“No, no!  I ain’t loony.  I want to make a proposal to you.  I want to see if you won’t marry me.  I’m sick of Laviny.  Let’s you and me settle down together.  I could have some peace then.  And I think a whole lot of you, too,” he added, apparently as an afterthought.

Keziah’s face was red now, and growing redder every instant.

“Kyan Pepper!” she cried in amazed incredulity.  “Kyan Pepper, do you—­”

“Hurry up!” pleaded Abishai, in agitated impatience.  “Say yes quick.  She’ll be back in a minute.”

“Say yes!  Why, you—­”

“Don’t stop to argue, Keziah.  I’ve got ’most fifteen hundred dollars in the bank.  Laviny keeps the pass book in her bureau, but you could get it from her.  I own my house.  I’m a man of good character.  You’re poor, but I don’t let that stand in the way.  Anyhow, you’re a first-rate housekeeper.  And I really do think an awful lot of you.”

Mrs. Coffin stepped no farther in the direction of the kitchen.  Instead, she strode toward the rickety chair and its occupant.  Kyan grasped the pipe with both hands.

“You poor—­miserable—­impudent—­” began the lady.

“Why, Keziah, don’t you want to?” He spoke as if the possibility of a refusal had never entered his mind.  “I cal’lated you’d be glad.  You wouldn’t have to go away then, nor—­My soul and body! some one’s knockin’ at the door!  And this dummed pipe’s fetched loose!”

The last sentence was a smothered shriek.  Keziah heeded not.  Neither did she heed the knock at the door.  Her hands were opening and closing convulsively.

“Be glad!” she repeated.  “Glad to marry a good-for-nothin’ sand-peep like you!  You sassy—­get down off that chair and out of this house!  Get down this minute!”

“I can’t!  This stovepipe’s loose, I tell you!  Be reason’ble, Keziah.  Do—­don’t you touch me!  I’ll fall if you do.  Pl-e-ase, Keziah!—­O Lordy!  I knew it.  Laviny!”

The door opened.  On the threshold, arms akimbo and lips set tight, stood Lavinia Pepper.  Her brother’s knees gave way; in their collapse they struck the chair back; the rickety leg wabbled.  Kyan grasped at the pipe to save himself and, the next moment, chair, sections of stovepipe, and Mr. Pepper disappeared with a mighty crash behind the high-boy.  A cloud of soot arose and obscured the view.

Keziah, too indignant even to laugh, glared at the wreck.  In the doorway of the kitchen Grace Van Horne, hammer in hand, leaned against the jamb, her handkerchief at her mouth and tears in her eyes.  Lavinia, majestic and rigid, dominated the scene.  From behind the high-boy came coughs, sneezes, and emphatic ejaculations.