orite at
college, in the village, and in the church with the Greys and the Maises
alike. But never had it made a greater conquest than now. Every child
and every grown-up whose heart is young is a hero-worshiper. In the
heart of Periwinkle a new fire was kindled, a new shrine built. Then and
there he decided that his every deed should be worthy of his Ideal.

"You don't want me to fight at all," he questioned after a moment of
silent adoration. "And I won't unless they pitch into Pearl. Why, here
comes your father and I guess it's most supper-time."

"Oh," laughed the minister, entering the room, "Miss Hetty's table would
make an appeal to anyone. I know you could not resist it, or I would ask
you to stay here for your supper."

"We'll come again, thank you," said Pearl, "but it's cream pie tonight,
please, and I helped Aunt Hetty make it."

"Pearl," said Periwinkle when they were started on their way home,
"there's one thing I want you to notice, Smith called me Peri and from
now on that's my name. Periwinkle sounds like a sissy. There was once a
great man named Perry. Will you remember, Pearl?"

"Yes, Periwinkle," replied his sister absent-mindedly, "but don't you
love the story he told us?"

"It was beautiful," replied her brother, "and I think it's splendid to
try to do good because Jesus loved people so, and because Joe Smith
loves Him too."

CHAPTER IV

THE CLAN

Preparations for the "big dinner" to which all the Maises had been
invited and to which, knowing the good treat which was in store, they
had been eagerly looking forward, were about complete. This dinner was
to be held at Miss Hetty's home, as a birthday celebration in honor of
the "clan leader," as the minister's son had designated that worthy man.
Jeoffrey Maise was the twin brother of the deceased owner of the famous
pig and it was he who had always maintained the bloodless but bitter
feud with the greatest fervor. It was always his eloquence and burning
hatred that rekindled the flame when the blaze of enmity showed any
signs of abating.

He had now reached his sixty-fifth year and to do him honor Aunt Hetty
assisted by a bevy of rosy-cheeked nieces and cousins, had brewed and
baked and stewed one hot morning in late August. Altogether eight
families of Maises, arrayed in their best, sallied out to the
white-gabled home of their spinster relative. Not only were they
prompted to attend because of the prospect of revelling in the co