heard of any save himself--an idol discernible only
by him, but none the less real for that.

The Imp with the hammer being no respecter of dignities, the idol of the
Front Room fell next, increasing the heap of ruins that was gathering
about his feet. Tragically came a day one spring, a cold, cloudy,
rational day, it seemed, when the Front Room went down; for the little
boy saw all its sanctities violated, its mysteries laid bare. And the
Front Room became a mere front room. Its shutters were opened and its
windows raised to let in light and common fresh air; its carpet was on the
line outside to be scourged of dust; the black, formidable furniture was
out on the wide porch to be re-varnished, like any common furniture,
plainly needing it; the vases of dyed grass might be handled without risk;
and the dark spirit that had seemed to be in and over all was vanished.
Even the majestic Ark of the Covenant, which the sinful Uzza once died for
so much as touching reverently, was now seen to be an ordinary stove for
the burning of anthracite coal, to be rattled profanely and polished for
an extra quarter by Sherman Tranquillity Tyler after he had finished
whitewashing the cellar. Fearlessly the little boy, grown somewhat bigger
now, walked among the debris of this idol, stamping the floor, sounding
the walls, detecting cracks in the ceiling, spots on the wall-paper and
cobwebs in the corners. Yet serene amid the ruins towered his valiant
spirit, conscious under the catastrophe of its power to build other and
yet stauncher idols.

Thus was it one day to stretch itself with new power amid the base ruins
of Cousin Bill J., though the time was mercifully deferred--that his soul
might gain strength in worship to put away even that which it worshipped
when the day of new truth dawned.

When Cousin Bill J., in the waning of that first winter, began actually
to refine his own superlative elegance by spraying his superior garments
with perfume, by munching tiny confections reputed to scent the breath
desirably, by a more diligent grooming of the always superb moustache, the
little boy suspected no motive. He saw these works only as the outward
signs of an inward grace that must be ever increasing. So it came that his
amazement was above that of all other persons when, at Spring's first
breath of honeyed fragrance, Cousin Bill J. went to be the husband of
Miss Alvira Abney. He had not failed to observe that Miss Alvira sang
alto, in