tar_."

"They're all my issues, so far's I can see," growled Fergus.

"But now, Fergus," persisted Nort, "if you were editing a column in the
newspaper what would you put in it?"

Fergus began to liven up a little.

"Tell us, Fergus," said Anthy.

Fergus took his pipe out of his mouth and rubbed the bowl of it along
his cheek, screwing up his face as though he were thinking hard. We all
watched him. No one could ever tell quite where Fergus would break out.

"What is most interesting to you?" prompted Nort.

"That's easy," said Fergus, and turning in his chair he reached across
to the shelf and produced his battered volume of "Tom Sawyer." This he
opened gravely and began to read the passage in which Tom beguiles the
other boys in the village to do his white-washing for him:

"Tom appeared on the sidewalk with a bucket of whitewash and
a long-handled brush. He surveyed the fence, and all
gladness left him and a deep melancholy settled down upon
his spirit. Thirty yards of board fence nine feet high. Life
seemed to him hollow and existence but a burden."

Fergus read it with a deliciously humorous Scotch twist in the words, a
twist impossible to represent in print. Occasionally he would pause and
bark two or three times, his excuse for laughter. When he had reached
the end of the passage, Nort said:

"I've got it! This is the very thing: let's put it in the _Star_.
Where's a pencil and paper? _Fergus MacGregor's Favourite Passage from
'Tom Sawyer.'_ Everybody in town knows that Fergus likes 'Tom Sawyer.'"

"Humph!" said Fergus, but it was evident that he was not a little
pleased. Do what he would, he could not help liking Nort.

"I know something that represents Fergus still better," said Anthy.

Fergus looked across at her, and then began thumbing his pipe.

"What's that?" asked Nort.

"'The Twa Dogs.' Isn't that your favourite poem, Fergus?"

"Whur'll you find a better one?" asked Fergus, putting his pipe back in
his mouth.

"That's Number Two," said the irrepressible Nort. "We'll put that in
some other issue headed _'Fergus MacGregor's Favourite Poem.'_"

[Illustration]

CHAPTER XX

THE CELEBRATION

Nothing, finally, continues long in this world. At moments of high
happiness and grand endeavour we are tempted to think that the world is
solid happiness all the way through. But in reality the interior of the
planet of life is molten and the crust terribly thin: