eighbourhood was sympathetically affected. Carl Polhemus,
who played the organ at church, had begun a wandering improvisation on
the piano, evidently so taken with certain various chords and runs that
he could not resist playing them passionately over and over. A
dangerous laugh, started among the younger set, began to strangle and
stifle his audience. Martie, looking straight ahead of her, gave only
an occasional spasmodic heave of shoulders and breast, but her lips
were compressed in an agony, and her eyes full of tears. From the
writhing boys on each side of her came frequent smothered snorts.

In upon this scene came old Dr. Ben, who had worked hand in hand with
Grandma Kelly in the darkened rooms where many of these hilarious
youngsters had drawn their first breath. Although the infatuated
musician did not stop at this interruption, many of his listeners rose
to greet the newcomer, and the tension snapped.

Dr. Ben sat down next to the old lady, and the room, from which the
older guests were quietly disappearing, was enthusiastically cleared
for dancing. The air, close already, became absolutely insufferable
now; the men's collars wilted, the girls' flushed faces streamed
perspiration. But the cool side-porch was accessible, and the laughter
and noise continued unabated.

Quietly crossing the dark backyard for his horse and buggy at ten
o'clock, Dr. Ben came upon Joe Hawkes sitting on the shadowy steps
with--he narrowed his eyes to make sure--yes, with little Sally Monroe.
The old man formed his lips into a slow, thoughtful whistle as he
busied himself with straps and buckles. Slowly, thoughtfully, he
climbed into his buggy.

"Sally!" he called, sitting irresolute with the reins in his hands.

The opaque spot that was Sally's gown did not stir in the shadows.

"Sally!" he called again. "I see ye, and Joe Hawkes, too. Come here a
minute!"

She went then, slowly into the clear November moonlight.

"What is it, Doc' Ben?" she asked, in a rather thick voice and with a
perceptible gulp. Even in this light he could see her wet lashes
glitter.

For a minute he did not speak, fat hands on fat knees. Sally, innocent,
loving, afraid, hung her head before him.

"Like Joe, do ye, Sally?" said the mild old voice.

"I--" Sally's voice was almost inaudible--"why, I don't know, Doc,
Ben," she faltered. "My mother--my father--" she stopped short.

"Your father and mother, eh?" Dr. Ben repeated musingly, as if to
hims