"Well, you see, we were all mixed up with him, just by being related—at least that's what the people thought. And so when my cousin did a lot of things the people thought he oughtn't to do and didn't do a lot of other things that they thought he ought to have done, they believed that I was just the same sort of man that he was."
"How unjust, Peter!"
He smiled at the ceiling.
"I thought so. I told them what I thought. I did what I could to straighten things out and to help them, but they wouldn't listen. Instead they burned my—my house down and I had to run away."
"How terrible for you!" And then, after a pause, "Was it a pretty house, Peter?"
"Yes," he replied slowly, "it was. A very pretty house—in the midst of a forest, with great pines all about it. I wish they hadn't burned that house, Beth, because I loved it."
"Poor dear! I'm so sorry."
"I thought you would be, because it was a big house, with pictures, books, music——"
"All burned! Land's sakes alive!"
"And a wonderful grand piano."