Was that young Methodist minister crushed by my plainly intended

gauntlet flung down to him? He was not.

"I'm glad I came over in time to put Billy out of his misery," he

answered, smiling up at me with a quick comprehension that was enraging.

"I'm going to have informal services in the chapel to-night to try out

the acoustics before the contractor turns over the building. I am not

satisfied about the sounding board he has put in, and the only way is to

try it with at least part of the seats occupied. We'll sing a bit and

plan the dedication; not have a formal service. So then, Billy, you can

have your fox-trotting and a good time to all of you, bless you, my

children." As he spoke he smiled at the entire group with the most

delightful interest and pleasure. He was dressed in a straight black

coat with a plain silk vest cut around a white collar that buttoned in

the back, and his dull gold mane was brushed down sleek and close to his

beautiful head. Not a flash of expression in his strong face showed that

he felt any resentment or dismay at thus having some of his most

prominent church members backslide from his prayer meeting into a

fox-trot, and yet I knew--knew that he fully appreciated the situation

and laid the blame of it where the blame was due.

"Of course we will come to the services first--that is, if you--if you

don't object," Letitia said with her usual directness and lack of any

kind of finesse, thus bringing the situation to a decided head.

"Why not come over for the songs and then not stay for the conference?"

was the genial answer that positively astonished me, and as he spoke he

came up the steps and stood beside me. "Dabney and I found the first

Star of Bethlehem when we were weeding this afternoon. I brought it to

you carefully, and can I have a cup of that tea he has been trying to

make you serve for the last five minutes?" With these words the Reverend

Mr. Goodloe turned me around and sent me to the tea tray that Dabney

and Sallie had put on a table under the rose vine; but not before he had

taken up my hand, put the star flower in it and curled my fingers over

it. "I'll pass the muffins, Billy, and you take the cakes for Miss

Powers, and be more careful than you were last Sunday with my collection

plate for the poor." Billy feigned confusion, accepted the plate and was

just about to begin a defense, when a diversion occurred to stop him.

"There comes Mark and Mrs. Mark," he exclaimed, "but they have got an

offspring apiece in their embrace and several trailers. Somebody ought

to remonstrate with Nell Morgan or have the firmness to apply the

superfluous blind kitten treatment every spring. Three children are

patriotic, but five are populistic and ought to be frowned upon," and

Billy grumbled all the while the Morgans were flocking up the front

walk. When they came to the steps the Jaguar descended and held out his

clerically befrocked arms so that the gurgler from Mark's shoulder and

the giggler from Nell's arms both fell into his embrace at one time.

"You young marplots, you!" he said as the gurgler printed a wet kiss on

his left ear and regarded him with rapture while the small cooer,

proclaimed as feminine by neck and sleeve ribbons, cuddled against his

shoulder with soft confidence. "They're going to take you both down to

the river and drown you," he confided with a soft note in his voice that

was an answer to the coo.




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