the old pig went to wander, the other went far to roam and, at last, when night was falling, and a little pig was calling never a one came home.

—rhunewalt's ballads of life.

adelaide and i have come to the conclusion that if you can't believe anything at all, not even the things that are as plain as the nose on your face—if you can't enjoy what is put here to be enjoyed—if you are going to turn up your nose at everything we tell you, and deny things that we know to be truly-ann-true, just because we haven't given you the cross-my-heart-and-hope-to-die sign—then it's your own fault if we don't reply when you try to give the wipple-wappling call. and more than that, if you know so much that you don't know anything, or less than anything, you will have to go somewhere else to be amused and entertained; you will have to find other play-fellows. you might persuade us to play with you if you had something nicer than peppermint candy, and sweeter than taffy, and then adelaide would show you things that you never so much as dreamed of before, and tell you things you never heard of.

adelaide! doesn't the very sound of the name make you feel a little bit better than you were feeling awhile ago? doesn't it remind you of the softest blue eyes in the world, and of long curly hair, spun from summer sunbeams that were left over from last season's growing? if all these things don't flash in your mind, like magic pictures on a white background, then you had better turn your head away, and not bother about the things i am saying. and another thing: don't imagine that i am writing of the right-now time, for, one day when adelaide and i were playing in the garden, we found eighteen-hundred-and-sixty-eight hiding under a honeysuckle vine, where it had gone to die. adelaide picked the poor thing up and put it in the warm place in her apron that she keeps for all the weaklings; and now when we want to remember a great many things, both good and bad, we go back to the poor thing we found under the honeysuckle vine.

it was a very good thing that old jonas whipple, of shady dale, had a sister who married and went to atlanta, because adelaide was in atlanta, and nowhere else; it was the only place where she could have been found. old jonas's sister had been in atlanta not longer than a year, if that long, when, one day, she found adelaide, and appeared to be very fond of her. at that time, adelaide had hardly been aroused from her dreams. she may have opened her eyes sometimes, but she seemed sleepy; and when she snored, as the majority of people will, when they are not put to bed right, everybody said she was crying. it was so ridiculous that she sometimes smiled in her sleep. but the most mysterious thing about it, was that old jonas's sister knew she was named adelaide almost as soon as she found her. now, how did old jonas's sister know that? adelaide and i have often tried to figure it out when we were playing in the garden, but no matter how many figures we made in the sand, there was always something or other in the top row that stood for no-time, and we didn't know how to add that up.

one day, adelaide's father, who had been ailing a long time, became so ill that a great many people came to the house in carriages and took him away so that he might get well again. adelaide hardly had time to forget that her father had gone away, before her mother went to bed one night, and, after staying there a long time, was carried away by the people who had been so kind to her, only this time there were a great many more women in the house, and some of them went about acting as though they had been taking snuff. and there was a very nice old gentleman, with a smooth face, and a big ring on one of his fat fingers. as well as adelaide could remember, this was the peskerwhalian bishop, and he was just as kind as he could be. he had a pink complexion just like a woman. he took adelaide in his arms, and told her all about heaven, and everything like that, and then he felt about in his pockets and found some candy drops.

adelaide knew very well that the people who came to the house were very much concerned about her. they talked in whispers when she was in hearing, but she knew by their sad faces that they were troubled about something, and she wished that they would get over it, and laugh and talk as they used to do. when she went on the street, the little girls she met turned and looked at her curiously, and though they were very friendly indeed, they had the inquisitive look that older people have such a dread of. at first she thought her nose must be smutty, or her bonnet on crooked, or her frock torn; but when it turned out that everything about her was according to the prevailing fashions of cleanliness and correctness, she was quite content to be the observed of all observers in her neighbourhood.

and then, one day (can it ever be forgotten by anybody who was living at that time?), a lovely man, looking so much like the bishop that adelaide named him so, came after her and said that she was to go to shady dale, and live with her uncle jonas. this was mr. sanders—billy sanders, of shady dale. "i ain't sorry for you one bit," mr. sanders declared—i was there when he said it—"bekaze the first time i saw you, you made a face at me."

"how did i look, and what else did i say?" adelaide asked.

"you looked this way," replied mr. sanders, puckering up his countenance, "an' you said 'w-a-a-a!'"

"then what did you say?" inquired adelaide.

"why, i shuck my fist at you an' said i never saw anybody look so much like your uncle jonas." adelaide took all this very seriously, as she did most things.

it turned out that she was to go to her uncle jonas, and that mr. sanders had come after her; and then, my goodness gracious! she was so full of anticipation and joy that she was frightened for herself. the kind ladies who had had charge of her told her not to be frightened, and to be very good, but she just rolled her big blue eyes, and had long, long thoughts about things of which she never breathed a word. she started at last, and went with mr. sanders on the choo-choo train, and such a time as the two had buying tickets to malvern, and laughing at the people they saw, and getting their baggage checked, and getting on the train, and watching the station slide back away from them so they could get a good start—such a time has hardly been repeated for anybody from that day to this.

a man caught a cinder in his eye, and ran with such speed to the water-cooler that he turned the whole thing over; and it came down with such a crash that everybody was frightened except mr. sanders and adelaide. women screamed, babies squalled, and all the time the cinder man was saying things under his breath, and some of them sounded to adelaide like the words that her good friend, the peskerwhalian bishop, used in his sermon, only they were not so fierce and emphatic. the child glanced around, and remarked with a satisfied smile: "it didn't scare cally-lou." "i reckon not," mr. sanders remarked, although he had no idea what adelaide meant.

well, they reached malvern in due time, and there, right at the station, was the stage-coach, which was driven by john bell. mr. sanders introduced adelaide to the driver, who took off his hat and bowed very gravely, and after that it was only a few minutes before they were on their way to shady dale. if the choo-choo train had been fine, the stage-coach was finer; it was like getting in a swing and staying there a long time. there were a few passengers in the coach, and they all appeared to be very sleepy. when they nodded, as the most of them did, they fell about somewhat promiscuously—though adelaide didn't think of that word—and made it somewhat uncomfortable for the child, who was wide awake and alert. but when they came to the place where the horses were watered, john bell leaned from his seat, and saw at a glance what adelaide's trouble was. in a jiffy he had her up on the swaying seat beside him. it would have been a frightful position for most children, but adelaide thought it was the grandest thing in the world. she was seated almost directly above the two wheel horses, and not very far from the leaders. she could see their muscles rise and fall as they whirled the coach along; she could see the flecks of foam made by the harness, and—well, it was just glorious! she had what mr. sanders called the christmas feeling—the feeling that is ever ready to become awe or delight—and the swing of the stage-coach kept her alternating between the two.

it was wonderful, too, how one man could manage four great big horses, how he could guide them by merely touching one of the reins with the end of a finger; and then, when john bell gave his long whip wide play, sending it through the air with a swish, and bringing it down as gently as a breath of wind on the back of the horse he desired to warn, adelaide could have screamed with delight. there was a half-way house where the horses were changed, and when the coach stopped for that purpose, most of the passengers went into a near-by inn for their dinner. one or two of them, however, had brought a lunch along. one of them offered adelaide a share, saying: "won't you have some of my dinner, sissy?" her mother had called her many fond names, but nothing like that. john bell glanced at her, and the expression on the little face opened his eyes. "no, i thank you," he replied, "she'll go snucks wi' me." she snuggled up to john bell—"did you hear him?" she asked; "he called me sissy." "i heard him," said john bell; "i heard every word, and just how he said it."

the lunch-basket that john bell found under the seat was a wonder to see. it seemed to adelaide that it held a whole bushel of fried chicken and biscuits with yellow butter on the inside of each. "now," said john bell, "there ain't enough vittles here for one, much less six." "six!" cried adelaide. "yes'm; you and yourself, mr. sanders and his self, and me and myself." "ef you're countin' me in," remarked mr. sanders, "jest add three more figgers to the multiplication table." "and then," said adelaide very solemnly, "there's cally-lou and herself. cally-lou's herself is just big enough to be counted," she went on, "but cally-lou is bigger than i am. she's sitting right here by me; you could see her if you could turn your head quick enough. she dodges when she thinks anybody is going to look at her, because she is neither black nor white; she's a brown girl with straight black hair that wavies when you brush it."

"it seemed to adelaide that it held a whole bushel of fried chicken and biscuits"

"why, of course," said john bell; "i'd know her anywhere. i was afraid, once or twice, that i'd put out her eye with my whip-lash."

"oh, did you really see cally-lou?" cried adelaide, with an ecstatic smile.

"didn't you hear what he said about the vittles?" remarked mr. sanders. "do you think he'd 'a' said that ef he'd 'a' seed only us three? i'll say this much for john bell before i eat all his chicken an' biscuits—he's nuther stingy ner greedy. now, then," he went on, "jest shet you eyes, an' grab, bekaze the one that grabs the quickest will git that big hind leg there. my goodness! i can shet my eyes an' see it!" whereupon mr. sanders and john bell closed their eyes, and reached into the basket, and one drew a back and a biscuit, and the other grabbed a neck and a biscuit. "we dassent shet our eyes any more," remarked mr. sanders, "bekaze if we do, cally-lou will git all the chicken!"

talk about picnics or barbecues, or parties where you have to wear your best clothes, or receptions where you have tea-cakes and ice-cream! why, this banquet on top of the stage-coach, where no strange person could look over your shoulder, and no one tell you not to eat with your fingers, and not to tuck your napkin under your chin, like—like i don't know what—why, it was just simply a true fairy story, not one of the make-believe kind—the kind that grows out of the weariness of invention.

the feast was over much too soon, though all had had much more than was good for them. john bell covered the treasure basket with a towel, and stowed it away in the big hollow place under the seat; then he beckoned to a negro who was helping with the horses. "run down to the spring and fetch us some water, and be certain to get it out of the north side of the spring, where it is cold and sweet." the negro did this in a jiffy, and such water adelaide had never before tasted. there was a whole bucketful, too. when they had all drunk their fill, adelaide looked at mr. sanders and john bell with a frown. "what can we do for you now, ma'am?" mr. sanders asked.

"why, i want you to turn your heads away. cally-lou says she is nearly famished for water, and she won't drink when any one is looking."

all this being done, everybody was ready to go. mr. sanders got in the stage, declaring that he must have his own warm place, john bell took the reins that were handed to him by the hostlers, gave a harmless swish with his long whip, and away they went to shady dale. it was all so strange, and so pleasant that adelaide could have wished the journey to continue indefinitely. but after a while, the houses they passed became larger and more numerous, and then the stage-coach made its appearance on the public square that was one of the features of shady dale. it rolled and swung toward the old tavern, and just when adelaide thought that john bell was going to drive right into the house for her benefit, he gave a little twist to his wrist, and the leaders swung around. even then it seemed that they would assuredly run headlong into the big mulberry tree, and trample to death the man who was leaning against it in a chair; but just as the leader was about to plant his forefeet in the man's bosom, john bell sent another signal down the tightly held reins, and the leaders swung around until the child could look right into their tired faces. and, oh, the thrill of it! adelaide felt that she could just hug john bell, but the man who had made such a narrow escape from the horses' feet had an entirely different view of the matter.

"you shorely must be tryin' to show off," he growled to john bell; "an' what for, i'd like to know? the next time you kill me, i'll have the law on you!"

"quite so," remarked john bell, with a grin that showed his white teeth. "but i want you to know that i've got company; let folks that ain't got company look out for themselves! have you seen mr. jonas whipple around here?"

"you don't want to run over old jonas, do you?" replied the man. "all i've got to say is, jest try it! old jonas is a lot tougher than what i am."

"i'd run over him in a minnit if it would give my company any pleasure," said john bell. "i've got a package for him that come all the way from atlanta, an' i reckon the best thing to do is to take it right straight to his house. it's wropped in cloth, an' he's got to give me a receipt for it!"

"oh, i know!" cried adelaide, pouting a little; "you are talking about me!"

"drive on!" exclaimed mr. sanders, who was sitting on the inside of the stage-coach. "i'll have my ride out ef i have to set in here ontell to-morrer."

"quite so!" exclaimed john bell, and with that, he signalled the leaders, all the other passengers having got out by this time, and in less than no time the coach was whirling in the direction of old jonas whipple's house.

i'd like to show you how the neighbours came to their doors and stared; i can't describe it on paper, but if you were sitting where you could see my motions and gestures you'd laugh until you cried. the way the horses swept down that long red hill, leading from the tavern to old jonas's, was assuredly a sight to see; and not only the neighbours saw it. old jonas saw it, and lucindy saw it, too. lucindy tried hard to be two persons that day; she'd look at old jonas and frown, and then she'd look at the stage-coach and smile all over her face. she was mad on one side and glad on the other—mad because old jonas wasn't as excited as she was, and glad because the child was coming. but old jonas had a very good reason for his lack of excitement; he had such a cold that he could hardly talk for coughing, and such a bad cough that he could hardly cough for wheezing. and before he would come to the door, he wrapped his neck in a piece of red flannel. he tried to smile when he saw adelaide waving her flower-like hand, and the smile came near strangling him. but lucindy, the cook, was more than equal to the emergency; she whipped off her big apron and waved it up and down at arm's length, which was quite as hearty a welcome as any one would wish to have. i am sure that no one else ever received such a welcome at old jonas's door. up swept the stage, around it swung, and then, "all out for whipple's cross-roads!"

mr. sanders had his head out of the window, and saw adelaide lift her lovely face and kiss john bell. it must have been a great strain on john bell to stoop so low, for when he straightened himself he was very red in the face.

"that," said mr. sanders, who was a close observer, "is the first time anybody has kissed john bell since he was a baby. that's what makes him sweat so!"

"much you know about such things," exclaimed john bell, mopping his face with a red bandana. nobody knows to this day how lucindy managed to take the trunk from the boot of the stage, and place it in the veranda in time to run back and seize adelaide and pull her through the window of the coach before any one could open the door. but such was the feat she performed in her excitement. mr. sanders appeared to be so surprised that he could do nothing but pucker up his face, pretending he was crying, and yell out: "lucindy's took miss adelaide, an' now who's gwine to take me out'n this stage. ef you don't come an' git me, jonas, i'll be took off by john bell, an' you won't never see me no more!" old jonas looked at mr. sanders as if he were in a dream, and had not heard aright. observing this, mr. sanders kept up the pretence, and he cried so loudly, and to such purpose, that the neighbours on each side of the street came running to their front doors to see what the trouble was. and then old jonas became furiously angry. "take him away, john bell!" he commanded; "i hold you responsible! confound you! why don't you drive on." with that he went into the house.

mr. sanders cared not a whit for old jonas's irritation, and so he alighted from the coach and followed the rest into the house. he was just in time to hear adelaide begin her course of instruction to old jonas.

"nunky-punky," said she, very solemn, "why didn't you wait for mr.——oh, i know who he is, he's the peskerwhalian bishop!—why didn't you wait for the bishop?"

"much he looks like a bishop!" replied old jonas, when he could control his cough. "did you ever hear a bishop boo-hooing and carrying on in that way?"

the child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually embarrassed. he rubbed his hand over a sharp chin that needed a razor very badly, and really forgot that he was angry with mr. sanders. then something quite shocking occurred to adelaide's nimble mind.

"the child stared at her uncle so seriously that he was actually embarrassed"

"oh, nunky-punky!" she cried, "you didn't kiss me when i comed, and everybody said you would, cause i asked 'em particular."

"honey," said mr. sanders, "le' me stand in nunky-punky's shoes while the kissin' is gwine on, bekaze he ain't shaved in two days, and his whiskers'll scratch your face."

but adelaide ran to old jonas, and held out her little arms to be lifted up. jonas hesitated; he looked at lucindy, then at mr. sanders, and finally allowed his glance to fall on the sweetly solemn face of the child. he tried to say something, to make some excuse, but he could think of none. he was not only dreadfully embarrassed, he was actually ashamed. not in forty years had any one ever asked to kiss him and, whether you count it backward or forward, forty years is a long time. mr. sanders tried to pilot him through the deep water—so to speak—in which he found himself. "sit down, jonas, and take miss adelaide on your knee, an' let the thing be done right. kinder shet your eyes an' pucker your mouth, and she'll do the rest."

"sanders," said old jonas, bristling up again, "if you really want to hurt my feelings just say so. you have no real delicacy about you. how do you know some one hasn't told the little girl that it is her duty to pretend to want to kiss her uncle, whether she wants to or not? tell me that!" old jonas's eyes glistened under his overhanging brows, and if "looks" could kill a man, mr. sanders would have fallen down dead. adelaide dropped her arms, and stood close to old jonas's knee, looking quite forlorn. "well, come on, cally-lou, uncle jonas has a very bad cold and a headache, and we mustn't bother him."

"no, no, no!" cried old jonas, screwing up his face until it looked like the seed-ball of a sweet-gum tree. "there are some things a man has to do whether he's used to them or not. come here and kiss me if you really want to." adelaide turned, tossing her head as if she were growner than a grown woman, and went toward old jonas with the queerest little smile ever seen. her feelings had been dreadfully hurt, but not a quiver of mouth or eyelid disclosed the fact, and only cally-lou knew it. old jonas sat down in his favourite chair, and took the child on his knee. if he had to be a martyr, he would go through the performance as gracefully as he could. adelaide made great preparations. she felt of his chin with one hand, while she threw the other around his neck. she seemed to know instinctively that old jonas was rather timid when it came to kissing people, and she went to his rescue. "now, i'm not going to kiss him until all you people turn your heads away. no, that won't do! you've got to turn clean around, and look the other way!" she waited until she had been obeyed, and then, as nimbly as a humming-bird kisses a flower, she kissed the grim old man, and slid from his knee.

"ten-ten-double-ten-forty-five-fifteen!" exclaimed mr. sanders. "all eyes open! i'm gwine to peep!"

adelaide laughed joyously, and when mr. sanders turned around she was standing in the middle of the floor.

"you're it!" he said to jonas. then the smile disappeared from his face. "lucindy," he said, "do you reckon mr. whipple would buss me ef i was to ast him?" the question was a little too much for lucindy, and she disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, bent double with laughter.

"sanders, why do you make a joke out of everything? did you ever reflect that there is somewhere a limit to some things?"

"i certainly do, jonas, an' you come mighty nigh reachin' it wi' me awhile ago. ef you hadn't 'a' let that child kiss you when she wanted to, i'd 'a' went out'n yon' door an' i'd 'a' never darkened it ag'in—not in this world."

"well, your common sense should tell you, sanders, that people ain't made alike. what you are keen to do i have no appetite for, and what i'm fond of, you have no relish for. that's plain enough, i reckon."

"ef that's a conundrum, jonas, i thank my maker that the answer is plain, yes!"

old jonas looked hard at mr. sanders as though he wanted to say something. he stuck out his chin, and looked toward the ceiling; then he looked at the floor, and began to rub his hands briskly together. then his thought came out: "sanders," he said, almost hospitably, "suppose you stay to supper to-night; or, if you can't stay until supper's ready, suppose you come back to supper? how will that suit you? i——"

"well, i'll tell you the truth, jonas: ef you think you need me for to pertect you from that child, you're mighty much mistaken. i don't believe that miss adelaide would harm a ha'r on your head, few as you've got."

"nonsense, sanders! you twist every mortal thing around in your mind, and you are never happy until you set your best friends up as a target for your folly. answer my question: will you take supper with—with us?"

mr. sanders regarded old jonas with real interest. his mild but fearless blue eyes studied the other's face as if they would read there the solution to some mystery. "yes, jonas; i'll not stay to supper, but i'll come back in time for supper. but don't publish it; ef the public know'd anything about it, they might think i was tryin' for to wheedle you out of a loan, an' then what'd happen? why, all my creditors would come swarmin' aroun' me like gnats aroun' a sleepin' dog. i could jest as well stay right here tell supper time, but i'm oblidze for to git out an' walk about a little, an' git the amazement out'n my system. off an' on, jonas, i've been a-knowin' you mighty nigh thirty year, an' this is the fust time you've ast me to take a meal in your house. i feel as funny as a flushed pa'tridge!"

jonas stalked out of the room pretending to be very angry, but he began to chuckle as soon as his back was turned. "sanders is out of his sphere," he said to himself. "more than half the time he should have a big tent over his head and be rigged up like a clown." mr. sanders watched the door through which old jonas had gone, as if he expected him to come back. then he called out to him: "jonas! be shore to have somethin' for supper that me an' that child can eat!"

old jonas heard the voice of mr. sanders, but he paid no attention to its purport. he went on into the kitchen where adelaide and lucindy were having a conversation. he tried to smile at the child, but he realised that his face was not made for smiles. it may have been different in the days of his boyhood, and probably was, but since he had devoted himself to the heartless problems that beset a man who is money-mad, the facial muscles that smiling brings into play had become so set in other directions, and had been so frequently used for other purposes, that they made but a poor success of a smile. realising this, he turned to lucindy, with a business-like air. "lucindy, mr. sanders is coming to supper; i reckon he knows how you can cook, for he jumped at the invitation. and then there's the little girl; we must have something nice and sweet for her," he went on.

"no, mr. jonas!" lucindy exclaimed; "nothin' sweet fer dis chile; des a little bread an' milk, er maybe a little hot-water tea."

"well, you know about that," remarked jonas, with a sigh; "we shall have to get a nurse for the child, i reckon."

lucindy drew a deep breath. "a nuss fer dat chile! whar she gwineter stay at? not in dis kitchen! not in dis house! not on dis lot! no, suh! ef she do, she'll hafter be here by herse'f. i'll drive her off, an' den you'll go out dar on de porch an' call her back; an' wid dat, i'll say good bye an' far'-you-well! yes, la! i kin stan' dis chile, here, an' i kin 'ten' ter what little ten'in' ter she'll need—but a new nigger on de place! an' a triflin' gal at dat! no suh, no suh! you'll hafter scuzen me dis time, an' de nex' time, too."

old jonas walked from one end of the kitchen to the other, his face puckered up with anger, and looking as if he were on the point of bursting into tears. "well, by the livin' jimminy! can't i do what i please in my own house? can't i get my own niece a nurse if i want to?"

lucindy placed both hands under her apron, and looked as if she were swelling up. "yasser," she exclaimed; "yasser, an' yasser, an' yasser. an' whiles you're gittin' a nurse, don't let it 'scape off'n your min' dat you'll want a cook!" she turned to the child, and the tone of her voice couldn't have been more different if it had come from the lips of another woman: "honey, don't git too close ter de stove; ef yo' frock ketches afire you won't need no nuss. mr. billy sanders'll be a-knockin' at dat do' present'y, an' supper ain't nigh ready—an' dey won't be no supper ef i got ter be crowded outer my own kitchen."

adelaide looked and listened, and finally she said: "aunt lucindy, cally-lou says she doesn't like to be where people are mad and quarreling. she's afraid she'll have to go off somewhere else."

"whar is cally-lou, honey? an' how big is she?"

"oh, she's lot's bigger than me," replied adelaide, very primly, "and she's sitting on the floor right by me. she says that fussing gives her nervy posteration."

"you say dat cally-lou is settin' on de flo' by yo' side?" lucindy asked, opening her eyes a little wider. "den how come i can't see her?"

"well," said adelaide, turning her soft blue eyes on the negro woman, and speaking with what seemed to be perfect seriousness, "she isn't used to you yet, and then she has had such a bad day!"

lucindy paused in her work and took a long look at the pretty face of the child. "i can't see her, honey, but dat ain't no reason she ain't dar whar you say she's at. let 'lone dat, it's a mighty good reason why she is dar!"

after a little adelaide went into the sitting-room, and there found her uncle jonas sitting in the twilight that came dimly through the windows. she crept to his side, and leaned her head with its long golden curls against his arm. she may have wondered why he failed to take her on his knee, but she said nothing, and he, being busy with some old, old thoughts that came back to him, was as silent as the fat china dog that sat peacefully by the fireplace.

presently lucindy came in to light the lamps, and saw the child standing by old jonas. "honey!" she exclaimed in a startled tone, "ain't you tired to death? ain't yo' legs 'bout to give way fum under you? i bet you cally-lou done gone ter bed——"

"no," said adelaide; "she's very tired, but she's standing up just like me." the next thing to happen was the entrance of mr. sanders, who seemed to bring the fresh breezes with him. he seized adelaide in his arms, and carried her into the dining-room. when all were seated, adelaide waited a moment, as though she was expecting something. then she placed her little hands over her face, leaned her head nearly down upon the table, and said grace silently; and but for the audible amen, the men would never have guessed what she was doing.

"i hope you mentioned my name," said mr. sanders, with due solemnity.

the child paid no attention to the remark, nor did she even glance at any one at the table, until the genial guest turned to the host and made a polite inquiry. "jonas, do you button these napkins on before or behind? i don't want to make any blunder if i can help it."

at this, adelaide looked up and saw that mr. sanders was trying to tie a corner of the tablecloth around his neck. the sight was so unexpected that she gave forth a peal of the merriest laughter ever heard, and lucindy gave a snort of discomfiture.

"i declar' ter gracious!" she exclaimed, "ef i ain't done gone and fergit de napkins!"

the oversight was soon remedied, and everything went along all right until mr. sanders, taking a spoon in his hand, said to the child:

"miss adelaide, i'll bet you and cally-lou can't do this."

he placed the spoon so far in his mouth that nothing could be seen but a small part of the handle. lucindy had to leave the room, and the child laughed until the tears ran down her cheeks. when she could control herself, she said, reproachfully:

"bishop, some day you'll choke yourself—you may ask anybody—and then what will the people do?"