o have you as my wife, and give you to--to the man whose
ring you wear--your lawful husband."

There was a pause and four horror-stricken eyes were turned on him.

"Good-by, Betty," he said brokenly. "Don't forget me in your
new-found happiness. I'm going to leave for the Far West on the
morning train. Think of me kindly, Betty."

With a last glance at them he turned on his heel and his head bowed
on his chest as his hand touched the door knob.

"Good-by," he repeated. He turned the door knob.

But at these words a flying bundle of snakes and silk and tawny hair
hurled itself at him.

"Oh, Perry, don't leave me! I can't face it alone! Perry, Perry,
take me with you!"

Her tears rained down in a torrent and flowed damply on his neck.
Calmly he folded his arms about her.

"I don't care," she cried tearfully. "I love you and if you can wake
up a minister at this hour and have it done over again I'll go West
with you."

Over her shoulder the front part of the camel looked at the back
part of the camel--and they exchanged a particularly subtle,
esoteric sort of wink that only true camels can understand.

BREAK-NECK HILL

BY ESTHER FORBES

From _The Grinnell Review_

Down Holly Street the tide had set in for church. It was a proper,
dilatory tide. Every silk-hat glistened, every shoe was blacked, the
flowers on the women's hats were as fresh as the daffodils against
the house fronts. Few met face to face, now and then a faster walker
would catch up with acquaintances and join them or, with a flash of
raised hat, bow, and pass on down the stream.

Then the current met an obstacle. A man, young and graceful and very
much preoccupied, walked through the church-goers, faced in the
opposite direction. His riding breeches and boots showed in spite of
the loose overcoat worn to cover them. He bowed continually, like
royalty from a landau, almost as mechanically, and answered the
remarks that greeted him.

"Hello, Geth."

"Hello."

"Good morning, Mr. Gething. Not going to church this morning." This
from a friend of his mother.

"Good morning. No, not this morning." He met a chum.

"Good riding day, eh?"

"Great."

"Well, Geth, don't break your neck."

"You bet not."

"I'll put a P.S. on the prayer for you," said the wag.

"Thanks a lot." The wag was always late--even to church on Easter
morning. So Gething knew the tail of the deluge was reached and past.
He had the street almost to himself.