cards you were playing with when I came in."

The cherub produced a dingy pack.

"They're only picture cards, Miss," he said.

The girl's gray eyes seemed to engulf the lad, friendly if a little
stern.

"Have you been gambling?" she asked.

"No, Miss," with obvious truthfulness.

"He's got nothin' to gamble with," jeered the brutal Stanley. "His
mother takes it all."

The girl mounted swiftly on to the platform, saw the writing on the
blackboard, and swept it away with a duster.

Then she turned to her little congregation, feeling their temper with
sure and sensitive spirit.

They were out of hand, and it was because she had been late through no
fault of her own. The kitchenmaid had fainted, and Boy had, of course,
been sent for.

There was one hope of steadying them.

"We'll start with a hymn," she said, taking her seat at the harmonium.
"Get your hymn-books. What hymn shall we have? Alfred, it's your turn, I
think."

Alfred, after some hesitation, gave _The Day Thou Gavest Lord Is Ended_,
amid the jealous murmurs of his friend.

"That's a nevenin nymn, fat-'ead," cried Jerry in a loud whisper.

"I don't care if it is," answered Alf stoutly. "It's nice."

"'E likes it because it makes him cry," jeered Stanley.

The girl started to play, her back to the congregation.

They sang two verses with round mouths, Jerry and Stanley shouting
against each other aggressively and wagging their heads. The third verse
went less well. There were interruptions. The voices grew ragged. Jerry
spoke; somebody whistled; and the singing ran away into giggles.

Boy swung round.

The cause of the merriment was sufficiently obvious.

A lop-eared Belgian rabbit was hopping across the floor, entirely
self-complacent and smug. As the sound of singing, which had covered him
like a garment, died away in smothered titters, he sat up on his
hind-legs and stared about him.

The girl descended from the platform, caught the rabbit by the ears and
suspended him.

Tame as a cow, he made no resistance.

"Who's is this hare?" she asked.

"Mrs. Woodburn's, Miss," answered Jerry brightly. "That's Abe Lincoln.
Queen Victoria's his wife. They lives together in a nutch."

"How did he come in?"

"Through the window," said the muffled voice of Albert from the back.
"Flow'd."

The rabbit, which had been hanging placidly suspended, was now seized
with spasms and began to twitch and contort violently.

The reason was not far to