s to their brethren of lesser degree,
weighed heavily upon them.

Mrs. John was the light about which all social moths fluttered. The
women supporting her formed a bodyguard sufficiently impressive and
substantial. The men-folk were allowed no nearer than the fringe of
their bristling skirts. It was like the slow and stately progress of a
swollen, vastly overfed queen bee, moving on her round of the cells to
deposit her eggs. The women were the attendant bees, the men were the
guarding drones, whose habits in real life in no way detracted from
the analogy, while Mrs. John--well, Mrs. John would have made a fine
specimen of a queen bee, except, perhaps, for the egg-laying business.

They, too, were being drawn to the magnet point, but, as the distance
they had to travel was greater than that of the other villagers, they
would certainly be the last to arrive. This had been well calculated
by Mrs. John, who was nothing if not important. She had well seen to
it that the ceremony, so shortly to take place, was on no account to
begin until her august word had been given. To further insure this
trifling piece of self-aggrandizement she was defraying the whole of
the expenses for the demolishment of the aged landmark of the valley.

The saloonkeeper, O'Brien, coldly cynical, but eager to miss nothing
of the doings of his fellow citizens, took up his position at an early
hour with two of the most faithful adherents of his business house.

It was his way to observe. It was his way to watch, and read the signs
going on about him. This valley, and all that belonged to it, had
little enough attraction for him beyond its possibilities of profit to
himself. Therefore the signs about him were at all times important.
And the signs of the doings of the forthcoming day more particularly
so.

Those who accompanied him were Danny Jarvis and "fighting" Mike. They
were entirely after his own heart, and, perhaps, if opportunity ever
chanced to offer, after his pocket as well. They accompanied him
because he insisted upon it, and with a more than tacit protest. As
yet they had not sufficiently slept off the fumes of their overnight
indulgence in rye whisky. But O'Brien, when it suited him, was quite
irresistible to his customers.

Having roused these two inebriates from their drunken slumbers on the
hay in his barn with a healthy kick, he proceeded to herd them out
into the daylight with a whole-hearted enthusiasm.

"Out you get, you lo