"Bless 'm heart 'm want 'lasses, 'm shall have 'la,sses! Clytie, git ma the sorghum."
The roaring infant did not subside until Edith took a huge glass sirup-jug from the cupboard and set it down beside him. Then laying her hand upon her father's shoulder she looked searchingly in his face and asked:
"What's gone wrong to-day, dad? What's happened!"
He hesitated a moment before replying.
"John Aker's house was blown up last night."
In the first silence of astonishment Nan saw Edith's face pale.
"Were they killed?"
Blakely shook his head.
"They all were gone for the night. A stick of dynamite under one corner did it; it's a wreck to-day."
Mrs. Blakely, who was barely visible through a cloud of smoke from burning pork, began to sniffle.
"We-all will be next, you mark my words!"
"Don't want to be blowed up, pa!" A chorus of minor wails started.
"Hush"—turning to Nan in explanation—
