Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley

She turned her gaze again to John, who was sitting back of the choir,

while his "understudy" conducted the service. His face was shaded by his

hand, but Amarilly's gimlet glance noted that he frequently sent a

fleeting, troubled look toward the King pew.

"Thar's something up atwixt 'em," deduced Amarilly, "and they air both

too proud to say nuthin' about it to the other."

John's sermon was on the strength that renunciation brings, and the duty

of learning resignation. There was a pervasive note of sadness in his

deliverance of the theme, and Amarilly felt her joyousness in the return

of her friends slipping from her.

She went out of church somewhat depressed, but was cheered by the

handclasp of the rector and his earnest assurance that he would see her

very soon. While he was saying this, Colette slipped past without

vouchsafing so much as a glance in their direction. Hurt through and

through, the little girl walked sadly to the pavement with head and eyes

downcast.

"Amarilly," dulcetly spoke a well-loved voice.

Her eyes turned quickly. Colette stood at the curb, her hand on the door

of the electric.

"I waited to take you home, dear. Why, what's the matter, Amarilly?

Tears?"

"I thought you wan't goin' to speak to me," said Amarilly, as she

stepped into the brougham and took the seat beside Colette.

"I didn't want to interrupt you and Mr. Meredith, but it's a wonder I

knew you. You look so different. You have grown so tall, and what a

beautiful dress! Who showed you how to fix your hair so artistically? I

never realized you had such beautiful hair, child!"

"I didn't nuther, till he told me."

"Who, Amarilly? Lord Algernon?"

"No!" scoffed Amarilly, suddenly realizing that her former hero had

toppled from his pedestal in her thoughts. "'Tain't him. It's a new

friend I have made. An artist."

"Oh, Amarilly, you have such distinguished acquaintances! All in the

profession, too. Tell me who the artist is."

"Mr. Derry Phillips. I cleaned his rooms, and he took me to lunch. We

ate things like we had to your house."

"Derry Phillips, the talented young artist! Why, Amarilly, girls are

tumbling over each other trying to get attention from him, and he took

you to luncheon! Where?"

"To Carter's, and I'm to serve his breakfast and take care of his rooms,

and he showed me how to fix my hair and to say 'can' and 'ate.' He's

fired the woman what red his rooms."