t care if I do, sister Manners," returned brother Mason, removing
his hat as if it were an afterthought, and drawing forth a large red
handkerchief with which he mopped his forehead and thick red neck.

"This is my lady-friend, Rose Fortune," said Henrietta as she drained
the coffee-pot, and nodding first to the visitor, then to myself; "my
gentleman-friend, brother Mason."

Brother Mason had risen and tiptoed forward, his hands thrust into the
bulging pockets of his overcoat, whence he proceeded gravely to draw
forth and deposit upon the barrel-top a heterogeneous love-offering, as
follows: two oranges; a box of mustard; a small sack of nutmegs; a box
of ground pepper; a package of allspice; a box containing three dozen
bouillon capsules; a bottle of the exact size and label as the
innumerable empty vessels on the mantel; a package of tea done up in
fancy red-and-gold paper; and, last, a large paper sack of pulverized
coffee.

Henrietta now handed a cup to the donor of these gifts, which he
accepted meekly and carried on tiptoe back to his place on the edge of
the bed.

Brother Mason drank his coffee with a great deal of unnecessary noise,
while Henrietta gathered up the dishes, after again rebuffing me almost
rudely for presuming to offer my services. Thus there was nothing left
for me to do, apparently, but to sit on the soap-box and look at brother
Mason, who regarded me in rather sheepish fashion over the top of his
cup.

I judged him to be a good-natured man on the near side of fifty. His
close-cropped hair was an iron-gray, and his stubby beard and mustache a
fierce red, the ferocity of which was tempered by the mildness of
deep-set, small blue eyes. His general appearance would, I thought, have
been more in accord with the driver of a beer-truck than anything so
comparatively genteel as driving a grocer's wagon--his occupation, I
discovered, which explained the source of his offerings to Henrietta.
Despite the burliness of brother Mason, there was that about him which
rather encouraged confidence than aroused suspicion, although it was
difficult to reconcile him with the superintendence of a mission
Sunday-school. The latter incongruity had just popped into my mind when
he broke the silence by asking in a deep guttural, and with a vigorous
nod in my direction as he put down his empty cup:

"Ha! Cat'lic?"

"Oh, no," I answered, eager to break the embarrassing silence--"oh, no;
I'm a Protestant."

"Ha!