Burton points out about those other matters, it was rather a silly attempt at a scare than a serious attempt at arson. Don't paint that poor devil any blacker than he is, my girl. He has probably realized long ago that it was all a silly performance, and we don't want to go about harboring malice." "Of course not. Only,--those things did actually happen to us, Mr. Burton." "Don't say happen, Leslie," said Mrs. Underwood, with the curious effect she always had of suddenly coming back to consciousness at any word that struck her ethical mind. "Things don't happen to people unless they have deserved them. What seems to be accident may be really punishment for sin." "Well, these things befell us after that fashion," said Leslie patiently, picking her words to avoid pitfalls of metaphysics. "Then they stopped. Everything went on quietly until a few weeks ago. Then things began again." "Let me warn you, Burton," interposed Dr. Underwood again, "that this is where Leslie becomes fantastic. She has too much imagination for her own good. She ought to be writing fairy tales, or society paragraphs for the Sunday papers. Now go ahead, my dear. Do your worst." "Papa persists in making fun of me because I see a connection between what happened six years ago, and the things that have been coming up lately, but I leave you to judge. There have been no tricks on us, no disturbances about the house, but there have been stories circulated, perfectly outrageous stories,--" "The highwayman story?" "That is one of them." "But surely the best way to treat that is with silent contempt!" But Leslie shook her head. "That isn't papa's way. He answers back. And it certainly is annoying to have your neighbors repeating such tales, and humiliating to find that they are ready to go more than halfway in believing them." "It is not only humiliating; it is expensive," murmured Dr. Underwood, letting his head fall back against the cushions of the couch, and closing his eyes a little wearily. "You can't expect people to call in a doctor who is suspected of robbing the public and occasionally poisoning a patient. I have practically nothing left but charity patients now, and pretty soon they will consider that it is a charity to let me prescribe for them."