waying and wriggling
before his eyes could only be satisfactorily explained as the result of
intoxication, or of temporary insanity. The same stranger would have
stopped short in surprise, on entering the Everetts' clumsy log-house.
In spite of its unattractive exterior, it was a cosy, luxurious
dwelling, with furniture, draperies and pictures which would do credit
to any Eastern city house; for Mrs. Everett had loved pretty things, and
had gathered them about her in the hope of making home the spot most
enjoyable for her children.

The Everetts were gathered around the table for their late dinner, one
night in February, soon after Charlie's arrival in Blue Creek. At the
head of the table sat Mrs. Pennypoker, who never appeared so majestic
as when she was presiding over the bountifully spread board, for Mrs.
Pennypoker was what is known as a liberal provider, and had a lingering
fondness, herself, for the good things of this earth. To-night, she was
unusually benign, for Wang Kum had outdone himself, and the soup was the
perfection of flavoring, the roast done to a turn; so she could relax
her anxious scrutiny of the appointments of the table, and lend an ear
to what Mr. Everett was saying to his daughter.

"Yes, Mr. Nelson came down to the office to see me to-day. It seems he's
been talking up the matter of a boy choir, and he wants Ned and Grant,
here, to sing in it. He's going to have Howard, and he's heard that
Charlie sings; then there are about a dozen little German fellows, and
some men. I told him I'd no objection, and I'd ask the boys what they
thought."

"He said something about it to me, after service last night," answered
Louise, who acted as organist at the little Episcopal chapel. "He said
he wanted to get his plans all made as soon as he could, so we could go
to work on the vestments and begin training, to have the choir ready to
sing at Easter. I told him that both the boys sang, but I didn't know
what you'd say to it."

"I'm willing," Mr. Everett was beginning, when Mrs. Pennypoker
interrupted him.

"Do you mean," she asked with icy distinctness, as she leaned forward
over the table to add emphasis to her words, "that you are going to let
your sons sing in one of those choirs that march into church with their
night-gowns on, and singsong the answers to what the priest says?"

"Why, yes," said Mr. Everett, smiling at his cousin, in the hope of
calming her disgust. "Yes; that is, if that's what you