ing they piece of cake or skipping rope?" Eliza was fast
developing a code of morals that bade fair to be both original and
sound.

"Yes," answered Miss Wingate with the utmost gravity and not a little
perturbation in her voice, "yes, of course. When did Doctor Mayberry
go?"

"This morning before you came down-stairs. He give Mother Mayberry some
drops for Mis' Bostick and told me, too, how to give 'em to her. Mother
Mayberry is down there now and I'm a-going to stay with her this
afternoon. But I tell you what we can do, Miss Elinory, there is Sam
Mosbey--I believe you can get him easy. He picked up a rose you dropped
when you went in the store to get your letters the other day, and when
Mr. Petway laughed he got red even in his ears. And just this week he
have bought a pair of pink suspenders, some sweet grease for his hair
and green striped socks. He'll look lovely when he gets fixed up and I
hope you will notice him some." Eliza spoke in the most encouraging of
tones of the improvement in appearance of the suitor she was
advocating, and was just about to continue her machinations by further
enthusiasm when, from down the road at the Bosticks, came Mother
Mayberry's voice calling her, and like a little killdee she darted away
to the aid of her confrere.

And for several long minutes Miss Wingate sat perfectly still and
looked across the meadow to the sky-line with intent eyes. Teether was
busily engaged in drawing by degrees his own pink toes up to his rosy
lips in an effort to get his foot into his mouth, an ambition that
sways most mortals from their seventh to tenth month. A thin wraith of
Miss Alford's personality had been drifting through the singer lady's
consciousness for some days, but she was positively stunned at this
sudden materialization. There come moments in the lives of most women
when they get glimpses into the undiscovered land of their own hearts
and are appalled thereby. Suddenly she hugged the chuckling baby very
close and began a rapid rocking to the humming accompaniment of a
rollicking street tune, a seemingly inexplicable but perfectly natural
proceeding.

"Well, I'd like to know which is the oldest, you or the baby,
honey-bird!" exclaimed Mother Mayberry as she came up the steps in the
midst of the frolic. "You and him a-giggling make music like a nest
full of young cat-birds. Did you ever notice how 'most any down-heart
will get up and go a-marching to a laugh tune? I needed just them