droning.

"That's Hayes," said a sturdy young chap, brown as an Indian, lolling
upon the grass. "He likes to be bossing something."

"That's so, Ewen," replied a smaller man, with a fish-like face, his
mouth and nose running into a single feature.

"I guess he's doin' his best, Nathan Pilley," answered another man,
stout and stocky, with bushy side whiskers flanking around a rubicund
face, out of which stared two prominent blue eyes.

"Oh, I reckon he is, Mr. Boggs. I have no word agin Hayes," replied
Nathan Pilley, a North Ontario man, who, abandoning a rocky farm in
Muskoka, had strayed to this far west country in search of better
fortune. "I have no word agin Mr. Hayes, Mr. Boggs," he reiterated. "In
fact, I think he ought to be highly commended for his beneficent work."

"But he does like to hear himself giving out orders, all the same,"
persisted the young man addressed as Ewen.

"Yes, he seems to sorter enjoy that, too, Ewen," agreed Nathan, who was
never known to oppose any man's opinion.

"He's doin' his best," insisted Mr. Boggs, rather sullenly.

"Yes, he is that, Mr. Boggs, he is that," said Nathan.

"But he likes to be the big toad in the puddle," said Ewen.

"Well, he certainly seems to, he does indeed, Ewen."

Clear over the droning there arose at this point another sound, a chorus
of childish laughter.

"That's the preacher's class," said Boggs. "Quare sort o' Sunday School
where the kids carry on like that."

"Seems rather peculiar," agreed Nathan, "peculiar in Sunday School, it
does."

"What's the matter with young Pickles?" enquired Ewen.

The eyes of the company, following the pointing finger, fell upon young
Pickles standing at the window of the little vestry to the church, and
looking in. He was apparently convulsed with laughter, with his hand
hard upon his mouth and nose as a kind of silencer.

"Do you know what's the matter with him, Pat?" continued Ewen.

Pat McCann, the faithful friend and shadow of young Pickles, after
studying the attitude and motions of his friend, gave answer:

"It's the preacher, I guess. He's kiddin' the kids inside. He's some
kidder, too," he said, moving to take his place beside his friend.

"What's he doing anyway?" said Ewen. "I'm going to see."

Gradually a little company gathered behind young Pickles and Pat McCann.
The window commanded a view of the room, yet in such a way that the
group were unobserved by the speaker.

"Say, you ought to s