Nickey as the
guest of honor--that evening--deferred testing the results of his
conversational studies until after supper: one thing at once, she
decided, was fair play.

After the meal was over, they repaired together to the parlor, and
while Hepsey took out her wash-rag knitting and Maxwell smoked his
cigar, Mrs. Betty gave Nickey her undivided attention.

In order to interest the young people of the place in the missionary
work of the parish, Mrs. Betty had organized a guild of boys who were
to earn what they could towards the support of a missionary in the
west. The Guild had been placed under the fostering care and
supervision of Nickey as its treasurer, and was known by the name of
"The Juvenile Band of Gleaners." In the course of the evening Mrs.
Maxwell took occasion to inquire what progress they were making,
thereby unconsciously challenging a somewhat surprising recountal.

"Well," Nickey replied readily, "we've got forty-six cents in the
treasury; that's just me, you know; I keep the cash in my pants
pocket."

Then he smiled uneasily, and fidgeted in his chair.

There was something in Nickey's tone and look that excited Mrs.
Betty's curiosity, and made his mother stop knitting and look at him
anxiously over her glasses.

"That is very good for a start," Mrs. Betty commended. "How did you
raise all that, Nickey?"

For a moment Nickey colored hotly, looked embarrassed, and made no
reply. Then mustering up his courage, and laughing, he began:

"Well, Mrs. Maxwell, it was just like this. Maybe you won't like it,
but I'll tell you all the same. Bein' as I was the president of the
Juv'nul Band of Gleaners, I though I'd get the kids together, and
start somethin'. Saturday it rained cats and dogs, so Billy Burns, Sam
Cooley, Dimple Perkins and me, we went up into the hay loft, and I
said to the kids, 'You fellows have got to cough up some dough for the
church, and----'"

"Contribute money, Nickey. Don't be slangy," his mother interjected.

"Well I says, 'I'm runnin' the Juv'nals, and you've got to do just
what I say. I've got a dandy scheme for raisin' money and we'll have
some fun doin' it, or I miss my guess.' Then I asked Sam Cooley how
much money he'd got, and Sam, he had forty-four cents, Billy Burns had
fifty-two cents, and Dimple had only two. Dimp never did have much
loose cash, anyway. But I said to Dimp, 'Never mind, Dimp; you aint
to blame. Your dad's an old skinflint. I'll lend you six to sta