“Isn’t he a funny man, Mamma?” she said.

Mrs. Armstrong nodded.  “Yes, he certainly is,” she admitted.

“Yes,” the child nodded reflectively.  “But I don’t believe he’s wicked at all.  I believe he’s real nice, don’t you?”

“I’m sure he is, dear.”

“Yes.  Petunia and I like him.  I think he’s what you said our Bridget was, a rough damson.”

“Not damson; diamond, dear.”

“Oh, yes.  It was damson preserve Mrs. Smalley had for supper last night.  I forgot.  Petunia told me to say damson; she makes so many mistakes.”

They heard the “rough diamond” returning.  He seemed to be in a hurry.  When he re-entered the little sitting-room he looked very much frightened.

“What is the matter?” demanded Mrs. Armstrong.

Jed gulped.

“They’ve come back,” he whispered.  “Godfreys, I forgot ’em, and they’ve come back.  What’ll I do now?”

“But who—­who has come back?”

Mr. Winslow waved both hands.

“The Old Scratch and his wife,” he declared.  “I hope they didn’t see me, but—­Land of love, they’re comin’ in!”

A majestic tread sounded in the hall, in the dining-room.  Mrs. George Powless appeared, severe, overwhelming, with Mr. George Powless in her wake.  The former saw Mr. Winslow and fixed him with her glittering eye, as the Ancient Mariner fixed the wedding guest.

“Ah!” she observed, with majestic irony, “the lost key is found, it would seem.”

Jed looked guilty.

“Yes, ma’am,” he faltered.  “Er—­yes, ma’am.”

“So?  And now, I presume, as it is apparent that you do show the interior of this house to other interested persons,” with a glance like a sharpened icicle in the direction of the Armstrongs, “perhaps you will show it to my husband and me.”

Jed swallowed hard.

“Well, ma’am,” he faltered, “I—­I’d like to, but—­but the fact is, I—­”

“Well, what?”

“It ain’t my house.”

“Isn’t your house?  George,” turning to Mr. Powless, “didn’t I hear this man distinctly tell you that this house was his?”

George nodded.  “Certainly, my dear,” he declared.  Then turning to Mr. Winslow, he demanded:  “What do you mean by saying it is yours one moment and not yours the next; eh?”

Jed looked around.  For one instant his gaze rested upon the face of Mrs. Armstrong.  Then he drew himself up.

“Because,” he declared, “I’ve rented it furnished to this lady here.  And, that bein’ the case, it ain’t mine just now and I ain’t got any right to be in it.  And,” his voice rising in desperation, “neither has anybody else.”

Mrs. George Powless went a few moments later; before she went she expressed her opinion of Mr. Winslow’s behavior.  Mr. George Powless followed her, expressing his opinion as he went.  The object of their adjuration sat down upon a rush-bottomed chair and rubbed his chin.