ed at the result.

"Yours in good fellowship,
"THE VILLAGE IMP. SOCIETY."

"That's a good business one," said Dick. "Sort of 'man to man,' you
know."

"I don't like it as well as some of the others," said Marjorie. "You
copy that, Dick, and I'll copy the 'lovingly' one."

Each took a model, and all set to work, except Kitty and Dorothy, who
were exempt, as their penmanship was not very legible.

"I'm tired," announced Dick, after an hour's work. "Let's stop where we
are."

"All right," said King. "We've enough for the first week, I think. If
these work pretty good, we'll do more next Saturday."

They had sixteen letters altogether, addressed to the best and worst
citizens of Rockwell, and in high glee they started to the post-office
to buy their stamps.

Mrs. Maynard willingly gave permission for them to go the short
distance to the post-office, and watched the six well-behaved children
as they walked off, two by two.

After the stamps were bought, and the letters posted, they found they
still had enough in the treasury for soda water all round, lacking two
cents. King generously supplied the deficit, and the six trooped into
the drug store, and each selected a favorite flavor.

The club meeting broke up after that, and the children went to their
homes, feeling that they had greatly gained in importance since morning.
And indeed they had.

That same evening many of the Rockwell people strolled down to the
post-office for their mail.

In the small town there were no carriers, and the short trip to the
post-office was deemed a pleasure by most.

When Mr. Maynard arrived he was surprised to find men gathered into
small groups, talking in loud and almost angry voices.

The pretty little stone building was not large enough to hold them all,
and knots of people were on the steps and on the small grass plot in
front.

"It's outrageous!" one man was saying. "I never heard of such impudence
in a civilized town!"

"Here comes Mr. Maynard now," said another, "let's ask him."

Mr. Maynard smiled pleasantly as the belligerent ones approached him.

They were men whom he knew by name, but they were not of his own social
circle.

"Look here," said John Kellogg, "I've just got this 'ere note, and some
kid yonder says it's the handwritin' of your son, and I want ter know ef
that's so!"

"It certainly looks like my son's writing," said Mr. Maynard, still
smiling pleasantly, though his heart sank as he w