Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley

She held nightly rehearsals for the proposed entertainment. After the

first the novelty was exhausted, and on the next night there was a

falling off in attendance, so the young, director diplomatically

resorted to the use of decoy ducks in the shape of a pan of popcorn, a

candy pull, and an apple roast. By such inducements she whipped her

chorus into line, ably assisted by Bud, who had profited by his

attendance at St. Mark's.

The Jenkins dwelling was singularly well adapted for a public

performance, as, to use Mrs. Wint's phraseology, "it had no insides."

The rooms were partitioned off by means of curtains on strings. These

were taken down on the night of the concert. So the "settin'-room," the

"bedroom off" and the kitchen became one. Seats were improvised by means

of boards stretched across inverted washtubs.

At seven o'clock on the night set for the concert the audience was

solemnly ushered in by the Boarder. No signs of the performers were

visible, but sounds of suppressed excitement issued from the woodshed,

which had been converted into a vestry.

Presently the choir, chanting a hymn, made an impressive and effective

entrance. To Amarilly's consternation this evoked an applause, which

jarred on her sense of propriety.

"This ain't no show, and it ain't no time to clap," she explained to the

Boarder, who cautioned the congregation against further demonstration.

Flamingus read a psalm in a sing-song, resonant voice, and then Amarilly

announced a hymn, cordially inviting the neighbors to "jine in." The

response was lusty-lunged, and there was a unanimous request for another

tune. After Amarilly had explained the use to which the collection was

to be put, Gus passed a pie tin, while an offertory solo was rendered by

Bud in sweet, trebled tones.

The sacred concert was pronounced a great success by the audience, who

promptly dispersed at its close. While the Boarder was shifting the

curtains to their former positions, and Mrs. Jenkins and Amarilly were

busily engaged in divesting the choir of their costumes, the front door

opened and disclosed a vision of loveliness in the form of Colette.

"I knocked," she explained apologetically to the Boarder, "but no one

heard me. Are the family all away?"

"They are in the woodshed. Walk right out," he urged hospitably.

Colette stepped to the door and, on opening it, gazed in bewilderment at

the disrobing choir.

"These are not St. Mark's choir-boys, are they?" she asked wonderingly.

Mrs. Jenkins felt herself growing weak-kneed. She looked apprehensively

at Amarilly, who stepped bravely to the front with the air of one who

feels that the end justifies the means.