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 regretfully at the smudges on his cambric shirt.

"My coat, if you please, Mademoiselle," he said. "I see you have it in your hands. Gad, my son! It was a nearer thing than I expected. On my word, I did not know that Brutus was back."

"He is like you, captain," said Mademoiselle, handing the coat to him. "You are both stubborn."

For some reason I could not fathom, her good nature had returned. It was relief, perhaps, that made her smile at us.

"It is a family trait," returned my father.

As though kicking down the door had been a simple household duty, Brutus turned from it with quiet passivity, and adjusted the folds of the blue broadcloth with an equal thoroughness, while my father straightened the lace at his wrists.

"Huh," said Brutus suddenly. Then I noticed that his stockings were caked with river mud, and that he had evidently been running. My father, forgetful of his coat for the moment, whirled about and faced

"To think I had forgotten," he cried. "What news, you black rascal?"

"Huh," said Brutus again, and handed