and she wanted to
make amends.

"That wouldn't be a bit of use," said Sally, "for I can't tell head nor
tail of the thing unless you show me. I'll drop in again in a day or so
and do my cuttin' and fittin' here."

"Yes," said John heartily, "that'll be the best way. If Mary was to send
you the chart, the person she sent it by might lose it, and that'd be a
pity, as it's the only one in the neighborhood. You come over and bring
the children with you and spend the day, and you and Mary can have a
good time sewin' and talkin'."

"That's what I'll do. Look for me day after to-morrow or the day after
that. I reckon the chart'll certainly turn up by that time."

"I'm sure it will," said John, "for I'm goin' to spend all my spare time
lookin' for it."

Dan clucked to the horse and shook the reins over its back.

"Well, good-by," cried Sally blithely, "I'll be certain to--"

But the rest of her words were drowned in the rattle of wheels and
clatter of hoofs, for Dan was laying on the whip in a desperate resolve
to get to town before the bank closed.

Mary stood silent with a hurt look on her face. How could John ask Sally
to spend the day when he knew how tired she was? It was all she could do
to keep the tears back.

"It's my opinion," said John, "that we'll never see that chart again. I
believe it's gone like grandfather Ervin's beaver hat."

Mary knew the story of the beaver hat. It was a family legend of the
supernatural that John was fond of telling. But she had little faith
that her chart had gone the way of grandfather Ervin's hat, and she went
back to the kitchen, wondering how John could have been so thoughtless,
and dreading the day after to-morrow that would bring Sally and those
troublesome children. John followed her, and opening the stove door, he
gently stirred the ashes within, thus effacing the last trace of the
chart; then he took his way to the barn, where he sank down on a pile of
fodder and laughed till the tears ran down his face.

"Edwin Booth couldn't 'a' done it better," he gasped. "I reckon I'll
have to quit farmin' and go on the stage. Didn't know I was such a born
actor. It was actin' a lie, too, but it's put a stop to Mary's troubles,
and I don't feel like repentin' yet. I reckon you might call it a lie of
'necessity and mercy', like the work that's allowed on the Sabbath day."

And at that precise moment Sally was saying to Dan:

"Did you ever see a man so put out over anything as J