e village.

Their joys were hers; their sorrows also. She took slivers from little
fingers with great skill, beguiling the owners thereof with wonderful
songs and stories. She piloted weary little plodders through pages of
"homework." She mended torn "pinnies" so that even vigilant mothers
never knew that their little girls had jumped the fence at all. She
made dresses for concerts at short notice. She appeased angry parents,
and many a time prevented the fall of correction's rod.

When Tommy Watson beguiled Ignatius McSorley, Jr., to leave his
mother's door, and go swimming in the river, promising faithfully to
"button up his back"--Ignatius being a wise child who knew his
limitations--and when Tommy Watson forgot that promise and basely
deserted Ignatius to catch on the back of a buggy that came along the
river road, leaving his unhappy friend clad in one small shirt, vainly
imploring him to return, Ignatius could not go home, for his mother
would know that he had again yielded to the siren's voice; so it was to
the Barner back door that he turned his guilty steps. Miss Barner was
talking to a patient in the office when she heard a small voice at the
kitchen door full of distress, whimpering:

"Please Miss Barner, I'm in a bad way. Tommy Watson said he'd help me
and he never!"

Miss Barner went quickly, and there on the doorstep stood a tiny cupid
in tears, tightly clasping his scanty wardrobe to his bosom.

"He said he'd help me and he never!" he repeated in a burst of rage as
she drew him in hastily.

"Never mind, honey," she said, struggling to control her laughter.
"Just wait till I catch Tommy Watson!"

Miss Barner was the assistant Band of Hope teacher. On Monday afternoon
it was part of her duty to go around and help the busy mothers to get
the children ready for the meeting. She also took her turn with Mrs.
White in making taffy, for they had learned that when temperance
sentiment waned, taffy, with nuts in it, had a wonderful power to bind
and hold the wavering childish heart.

There was no human way of telling a taffy day--the only sure way was to
go every time. The two little White girls always knew, but do you think
they would tell? Not they. There was secrecy written all over their
blond faces, and in every strand of their straw-coloured hair. Once
they deliberately stood by and heard Minnie McSorley and Mary Watson
plan to go down to the creamery for pussy-willows on Monday
afternoon--there wer