irror. He even brushed and cleaned his old clothes, for he foresaw
the pain of laying aside the raiment of Solomon for dingy every-day
garments.

Toward noon he went down-stairs to continue his zealous efforts in the
kitchen. This met with Aunt Melvy's instant disapproval.

"For mercy sake, git out ob my way!" she cried, as she squeezed past
the ironing-board to get to the stove. "I'll press yer pants, ef
you'll jus' take yourself outen de kitchen. Be sure don't burn 'em?
Look a-heah, chile; I was pressin' pants 'fore yer paw was wearin'
'em!"

Aunt Melvy's temper was a thing not to be trifled with when a
"protracted meeting" was in session. For years she had been the black
sheep in the spiritual fold. Her earnest desire to get religion and
the untiring efforts of the exhorters had alike proved futile. Year
after year she sat on the mourners' bench, seeking the light and
failing each time to "come th'u'."

This discouraging condition of affairs sorely afflicted her, and
produced a kind of equinoctial agitation in the Hollis kitchen.

Sandy went on into the dining-room, but he found no welcome there.
Mrs. Hollis was submerged in pastry. The county fair was her one
dissipation, and her highest ambition was to take premiums. Every year
she sent forth battalions of cakes, pies, sweet pickles, beaten
biscuit, crocheted doilies, and crazy-quilts to capture the blue
ribbon.

"Don't put the window up!" she warned Sandy. "I know it's stifling,
but I can't have the dust coming in. Why don't you go on in the
house?"

Mrs. Hollis always spoke of the kitchen and dining-room as if they
were not a part of the house.

"Can't ye tell me something that's good for the sunburn?" asked
Sandy, anxiously. "It's a dressed-up shooting-cracker I'll be
resembling the morrow, in spite of me fine clothes."

"Buttermilk and lemon-juice," recommended Mrs. Hollis, as she placed
the last marshmallow on the roof of a four-story cake.

Sandy would have endured any discomfort that day in order to add one
charm to his personal appearance. He used so many lemons there were
none left for the judge's lemonade when he came home for dinner.

"Just home from the post-office?" he asked when he saw Sandy enter the
dining-room with his hat on.

"Jimmy Reed's doing my work to-day," Sandy said apologetically. "And
if you please, sir, I'll be keeping my hat on. I have just washed my
hair, and I want it to dry straight."

The judge looked at the suspi