The entire family, save Iry, who was put to bed at a neighbor's, went to

the recital. The Boarder took Lily Rose, who was quite flustered at her

first appearance with the family.

John and Colette occupied a pew directly opposite the family. Mr. Vedder

and Pete were also in attendance.

When the bishop came from the vestry and walked down the aisle to his

pew, his eyes fell upon the worn, seamed face of Bud's mother, the weary

patient eyes in such odd contrast to the youthful turban with its

smartly dancing flowers. Something stirred in his well-regulated heart,

and he carefully wiped his glasses.

At the signal from the choirmaster for the solo of the oratorio, Bud

arose. An atom of a boy he looked in the vast, vaulted chancel, and for

the first time he knew fear at the thought of singing. It was a terrible

thing, after all, to face this sea of staring, dancing people. As

lightning reaches to steel, the gay poppies nodding so nervously above

his mother's white, anxious face sought the courage place within, and

urged him on. He felt himself back in Clothes-line Park, alone with his

mother and the blue sky.

The little figure filled itself with a long, deep breath. The high,

clear note merged into one with the notes of the chorus. It touched the

tones of the accompaniment in harmony true, and swelled into grand,

triumphant music.

"He looks like he did arter the fever," thought Amarilly anxiously.

When he came down the aisle with the choir, the ethereal look had left

his face, and he was again a happy little boy. He gave his mother a gay

nod, and bestowed a wink upon the Boarder. He waited outside and the

family wended their way homeward.

There had not been time to bring in the clothes before leaving, but a

willing neighborhood had guarded the premises for them, so Clothes-line

Park was shrouded in a whiteness that looked ghostly in the moonlight.

They made quite an affair of the evening in honor of Bud's song, and

their introduction to Lily Rose. There were fried sausages, coffee,

sandwiches, and pork cake.

"The organist told me," announced Bud at supper, "that he was agoin' to

train my voice, and I could be soloist at Grace Church and git five

dollars a Sunday, and after a while I could git ten."

"You'll be a millynaire," prophesied Bobby in awed tones.

"Guess we'll be on Easy Street now," shouted Cory.

"We won't be nuthin' of the kind," snapped Amarilly. "It's agoin' to all

be banked fer Bud."




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