ext gate, like
a beautiful butterfly from a green cocoon. Joanna was glorious in a
pink silk and white shoes, and a hat trimmed with pink roses. She was
a very handsome girl, but she was fast nearing the danger line of
thirty, and a long attachment to Trooper Tom Boyd, who was a gay lad,
attached to nobody, had rather soured Joanna's temper and sharpened her
tongue.

Her father, in his shirt sleeves, was sitting in the most conspicuous
part of the little veranda with his stockinged feet on the railing,
smoking his pipe and reading the newspaper. Mark Falls always managed,
when the weather permitted, to arrange himself in this position on a
Sunday before the church goers. He knew it scandalised the worshippers
and especially angered the good old Presbyterians who were strict
Sabbatarians. Mark made a great parade of his extreme irreligiousness,
and could tell stories all day long about duplicity of ministers and
the hypocrisy of church members. Joanna was his one orphan child and
he was not a very kind father, which had added not a little to his
daughter's acidity of temper. But they went their several ways quite
independently, and Joanna's way was always where Trooper Tom Boyd was
to be found.

She happened to come out of her gate just as Trooper and Sandy Lindsay
were passing together, and of course they walked with her. It was
surprising how many times little coincidents like this happened.
Trooper whispered something to her and Joanna's happy laugh could be
heard all down the line of demure church goers.

The procession passed the closed and deserted store, but Marmaduke
Simms was perched on the veranda, and Trooper meanly deserted his fair
partner, and swung himself up beside his chum, there to wait until the
sound of the first hymn would assure them they were in no danger of
being too early for church.

Tilly Holmes came tripping out of the side door and through the garden
gate, an entrance used only on the Sabbath. The Holmeses were strict
Baptists, and their service was not held until the afternoon. But they
found it impossible to keep their children from the promiscuous
church-going habits of the village and long ago had given up the
struggle. They even allowed Tilly to belong to the Union
Presbyterian-and-Methodist Choir, knowing that youth will be wayward
and you can't put old heads on young shoulders.

Tilly was trying hard not to giggle, seeing it was Sunday, but she
found it particularly d