en last they parted,
and as a letter written with magnificent flourishes now announced.

Late in August this perfect father came--a fine laughing, rollicking, big
gentleman, with a great, loud voice, and beautiful long curls that touched
his velvet coat-collar. His sweeping golden moustache, wide-brimmed white
hat, the choice rings on his fingers, his magnificently ponderous gold
watch-chain and a watch of the finest silver, all proclaimed him a being
of such flawless elegance both in person and attire that the little boy
never grew tired of showing him to the village people and to Clytie. He
did not stay at the big house, for some reason, but at the Eagle Hotel,
whence he came to see his boys each day, or met them hurrying to see him.
And for a further reason which the little boys did not understand, their
grandfather continued to be too busy to see this perfect father once
during the week he stayed in the village.

Deeming it a pity that two such choice spirits should not be brought
together, the little boy urged his father to bring his fiddle to the big
house and play and sing some of his fine songs, so that his grandfather
could have a chance to hear some good music. He knew well enough that if
the old man once heard this music he would have to give in and enjoy it,
even if he was too busy to come down. And if only his father would tune up
the fiddle and sing that very, very good song about,

"The more she said 'Whoa!'
They cried, 'Let her go!'
And the swing went a little bit higher,"

if only his grandfather could hear this, one of the funniest and noisiest
songs in the world, perhaps he would come right down stairs. But his
father laughed away the suggestion, saying that the old gentleman had no
ear for music; which, of course, was a joke, for he had two, like any
person.

Clytemnestra, too, was at first strangely cool to the incomparable father,
though at last she proved not wholly insensible to his charm, providing
for his refection her very choicest cake and the last tumbler of
crab-apple jelly. She began to suspect that a man of manners so engaging
must have good in him, and she gave him at parting the tracts of "The
Dying Drummer Boy" and "Sinner, what if You Die To-day?" for which he
professed warm gratitude.

The little boy afterward saw his perfect father hand these very tracts to
Milo Barrus, when they met him on the street, saying, "Here, Barrus, get
your soul saved while you wait!" Then the