would have been grateful. She turned so white and faint that she would have fallen had she not clutched at the back of the nearest chair. For this lady was no less a personage than the principal of the high school, a woman whose keen eyes penetrated every disguise, and whom no girl could hope to deceive. But Norah flew to the rescue.

"An' is it you, dear Miss Prentiss? Sure, herself told me you might come and stay with me while she was away, an' I was to take good care of you. This is my sister Molly, that's staying here to help while the family's gone. Molly, how did you dare touch Miss Emily's things? How did you dare? Take them off directly, and come to the kitchen, where you belong."

Molly was now between two fires. Miss Prentiss, on the one side, continued surveying her in silence, with an expression of withering scorn. On the other, Norah stood a picture of agonized entreaty. Presently her countenance cleared.

"Norah, dear," she said, "please leave me with Miss Prentiss."

Norah went down stairs wringing her hands.

Molly poured out the whole tale, and Miss Prentiss listened in wonder, patience and sympathy. Molly kept nothing back, and did not spare herself. When she had finished, Miss Prentiss spoke.

"Well, my dear, you have behaved very badly. I had hoped to help you to win a scholarship in Hartwell College next year, and to carry out your plans. You see, I knew your good father and mother and esteemed them highly. The only thing I doubted you for was because you were capable of feeling ashamed of them. Now, will you do precisely what I bid you?"

"Yes," the answer came in almost a whisper.

"Write down in a few words an apology to Emily for your invasion of her room, and give it to me. Then go to work and relieve Norah of some of her care. If you still

wish to study I will give you a little help, and see about college, provided we are done with false shame."

The statement was written and given to Miss Prentiss. But Emily never heard of it, nor saw a line of it. Miss Prentiss burned it one rainy evening when she had a bit of fire on the hearth. Molly had her wish. She went to college, and in time became a teacher. When that time came, she had learned to know the difference between real things and shams.

ON THE MASTER'S SERVICE

DEACON BALDWIN, coming out of church on a Sab

bath evening, when the pews were thinly filled, nudged Deacon Simpson on the shoulder. "Stop in a minute or two on your way home," he said.

The second deacon nodded. "I'll just leave Marthy in the house," he answered, "and I'll be 'round."

Both deacons were elderly men, the one tall, spare, and grizzled; the other, round, rosy and baldheaded. They had been boys together, and for years had run the affairs of the Black Hill township and the Black Hill church. Nothing went there except as Deacon Baldwin moved and Deacon Simpson seconded it, and the two had sometimes the air of conspirators as they planned, not to say "plotted," together for the best interests of their neighbors. At present the senior deacon was in a mood which might well be called disgruntled. He did not like his pastor, and thought that the church was not being carried on according to business principles, and the present desire uppermost in his mind was to induce Mr. Bancroft to resign—“peaceably, if we can; forcibly, if we must," he said to himself, as he weeded his garden, or weighed out sugar and butter for his customers at the country store. "The church doesn't grow." He wagged his head solemnly and thrust out the tip of his tongue a little way, as was his habit when he spoke with conviction.

"Yes, brother," replied Deacon Simpson; "but then the question is, how is it tew grow in a place like Black Hill? We've got all the town there is, seems to me."

"We'd ought to draw in the young people from Topping Centre and Windy Heights. Moonlight nights, there'd

ought to be courtin' couples drivin' in from ten miles round. Mr. Bancroft just jogs on; he don't announce novelties, and the people demand novelties nowadays."

"Seems to me we can't do much while his salary ain't paid up," said Deacon Simpson, anxiously. "We owe him three months now, and winter's coming in, and he can't leave till we've settled accounts."

"Who's talking about his leaving?" said Deacon Baldwin, shifting his ground. “A successful man never has any trouble about salary-the salary's there. The pews bring it in, an' the collections. Mr. Bancroft's got no grit, or he'd get his salary. Did I ever tell you about the time I went to Elsmore to visit my wife's second cousin, and the way the preacher took up the collection that day? No? Then I'll tell you now, Aaron Simpson, and you'll see what I mean when I complain that our minister's too timorous.

"They'd ben a-shinglin the roof, and the money hed to be raised to pay the bill. When the sermon and the other exercises was over, the preacher said: 'Now we'll take up the offering. The offering's got to be large this mornin' to pay for repairs to this edifice. The elements used to beat in through the leaks in the sanctuary ceiling, and we had to have the roof fixed; fixing it cost money, and the money's now due. Brethren, shut the door and pass the plates.'

"The plates were passed and the money was counted. It was not enough. The minister looked firmly down at the congregation. 'Brethren,' he said, 'lock them doors and give me the key. Not a soul leaves here till we have the hull amount necessary. Sing "Saved by Grace," and pass the plates again.'

"The amount was again counted. It was larger than before, but it was not yet enough.

"The preacher rose again in his place, looking very sad and stern, like a father when he's obliged to make a stand with his boys, or a teacher when he's downright mad.

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"Friends,' he said, 'the doors are locked, and I've got the key in my pocket. This congregation won't be let to go home till this money for the roof is raised. Your dinners are waiting. Some of you have babies crying at home. Some of you has given till you've felt it, but none of you has been squeezed yet. I tell you this is a case of squeeze. Lyddy,' addressing one of the singers, 'step out and give us a solo, while the plates go round the third time. Then we'll all rise and roll out grandly, "Praise God. from whom all blessings flow."

"A couple of dudes in the back seat, young men from the city, turned their purses inside out that time, an' the money was raised. What do you think of that? Wasn't he a hustler, Brother Simpson?"

"All I've got to say is that Brother Bancroft couldn't do such a thing, and you wouldn't like it if he could. But I agree with you that he's got into a rut, and a change would be a good thing-perhaps. I've nothing against Mr. Bancroft as a man. He's a fine fellow; personally I like him, but I think somebody else might do better for the Black Hill church."

It's always a rather sorrowful crisis which has come to the church, when the leading men begin making the above distinction as they describe their feelings.

"Father," called a voice from the bedroom, on the same floor with the sitting-room, in which the two deacons were holding their evening pow-wow, "Father!"

"Well, mother?"

The deacon was always a little subdued by his wife. "If you and Deacon Simpson are goin' to talk much longer, would you mind adjournin' to the parlor ?"

"I'm just off," said Deacon Simpson, with a glance at the clock, which was on the eve of striking ten. “We'll continue this subject later on. Marthy'll be wonderin'

what's become of me.”

As Deacon Baldwin shut and barred the door, a figure