whispering words
of stimulation and encouragement all the while.

Thoroughly put to rights, Miss Josey placed the girl's hand into that
of a very grand personage--the president of the Grange, in fact--who
led her gallantly to the spot selected for the coronation ceremonies.
There stood the hero of the day. He advanced a step or two as she drew
near, he bowed low, and then in a distinct voice with a somewhat
heightened color, but in his usual simple, straightforward manner,
said: "Miss Creecy, I beg you will do me the honor to accept this
trophy of my victory."

Miss Creecy silently bowed her head; he placed the wreath upon it, and
lo! what has become of our rustic maiden? She is a Queen!

Nevertheless, she immediately fell back again into Miss Josey's hands,
who hastened to push the crown this way and then that,--forward a
little, and then backward a little--just one barley-corn this side and
just one the other; until the magical spot of perfect-becomingness
having been reached, she wisely let it be. As soon as the crowd caught
sight of this bright splendor of yellow hair, surmounted by a wreath
of flowers, the shouting and yelling re-commenced; and when it was
passed with electric swiftness from mouth to mouth, that the head of
the Rutland family, the owner of an honored name and a big estate, had
chosen for his queen, not the daughter of a rich planter or a great
statesman, but a child of the yeomanry, a ripple of intense excitement
flashed through the multitude, and enthusiasm knew no bounds.

"Rutland for the people, and the people for Rutland!" was the joyous
outpouring of the common heart. A sentiment which only subsided
occasionally, to be renewed with increased vigor and manifold cheers.

"I see your game," said the secretary of the Grange to Rube, with a
sly wink. "You are going to run for the Legislature?"

"Your penetration surprises me," returned Rube with a laugh. "What a
pity the voting couldn't be done now; I'd be willing to risk a couple
of thousand on my own election, if it could!"

"It's awfully becoming to her, isn't it?" inquired Jerome, speaking to
Clara, and referring to the crown which sat upon the queen's head.

"I don't think so," returned Clara, "not in the least becoming. It
doesn't suit the color of her hair."

"Sure enough! I had forgotten that. We bought it to suit yours, didn't
we? It is too bad! but never mind; we'll come in for the second prize,
certain."

"Not I!" exclaimed