id the secretary.

It was "me!" "me!" "me!" all over the barn chamber, and the members of
that swordless club were almost at swords' points.

"Sposin' we 'journ this," said Charlie the peace-maker, remembering the
rule for "doing things" in meetings.

"Yes," exclaimed Sid, "and until we get a real sword each one can chalk a
sword on his pants."

"Hurrah!" sang out Gov. Grimes, and each one, happy in the thought that he
could have a sword as speedily as his neighbor, cheered lustily.

"Now, boys, let's go and see 'teacher' about our name," suggested the
president. The barn was vacated at once, and the members of the club went
down stairs as if a fire were after them, and then rushed along the lane,
all heading for a cozy story-and-a-half house where "teacher" lived. "The
Sunday-school teacher" was Miss Bertha Barry, brown-haired, brown-eyed,
vivacious Bertha Barry. All the boys were in her class, save Tony.

"O, she won't do for a teacher," said old Mrs. Jones, when the pastor
invited Bertha to enter the Sunday-school as a worker. "Too flighty!"

"She wont stick," growled Timothy Scriggins, a venerable male gossip, who
scolded every body and every thing, satisfied only with Timothy Scriggins.

However, she _did do_ and she did _stick_. The boys took a very positive
fancy to this young, sprightly, energetic teacher, and their liking
lasted. She compelled their respect and she won their hearts. They looked
upon her as an older sister, and promptly confided to her their troubles
and solicited her advice. In a troop, running, panting, they came into her
yard and presented themselves at her door.

"Come into the sitting-room, boys. Glad to see you. Well!"

Her air said: "I wonder what brought my class in a body to me," something
was evidently on the minds of all. The president quickly dissipated the
mystery.

"We--we--" said Sid, trying to catch his breath, "have--formed
a--club--and--want--you--to name it."

"Yes! yes! yes!" was the chorus coming from the eager faces turned up to
Miss Bertha.

"Name a club? Dear me! What shall I tell you? Where is your club?"

"Here!" said Sid, looking round in pride.

"No; I mean, where do you hold your meetings?"

"In my barn," said Charlie. "You go in from the street and go up some
stairs. It's up stairs."

"You might go up higher," added the governor. "There's a ladder there, so
you can get up--up in the cupelo, but you wont want to go up there."

"Why, that suggests