LITMIR.BIZ

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not a little more so."

      "You have your duty to the Rectory."

      "But what's this Rectory here for? And the Church, too, for that matter?"

      "For worship."

      "And how better can we worship than——"

      Seeing that she was losing out in the argument, Mrs. Milo now resorted to personalities. "Darling," she said gently, "do you know that you're contradicting your mother?"

      "I'm sorry."

      "The children are given food, clothes, and religious instruction."

      "But not love!—Oh, mother, I must say it! We herd them out there in that great building, just because their fathers and mothers didn't take out a license to be parents!"

      Shocked, Mrs. Milo stepped back. "My daughter!"

      "Can we punish those poor little souls for that? And, oh, how they'd relish a taste of home life!"

      Her position decidedly weakened—and that before watchful Hattie—Mrs. Milo adopted new tactics. "Of course, I have nothing to say," she began. "I am only here because you hold this secretaryship. You don't have to make me feel that I'm an intruder, Sue. I feel that sharply enough." There was a trace of tears in her voice. "But even as an intruder, I have a certain responsibility toward the Rectory—all the greater, perhaps, because I'm a guest. Many a day I tire myself out attending to duties that are not mine. And I do——" She interrupted herself to point carpet-ward. "Please pick up that needle. Dora must have overlooked it this morning. What is a needle doing in here? Thank you." Then as she spied that mocking look in Hattie's eyes once more, "Well, I'm not going to see the place pulled to pieces!"

      There was scorn written even in Hattie's profile. Sue came quickly to her mother's defense. "I get mother's viewpoint absolutely," she declared stoutly. "We've lived here a long time. Naturally, you see——" Then, with a shake of the head, "But this is Mr. Farvel's home."

      Mrs. Milo laughed—a low, musical, well-bred laugh. "His home?" she repeated, raising delicate brows.

      "And he can do as he chooses. If we oppose——"

      "I shall oppose." It was said cheerfully. "So let him dismiss you. I've never touched your father's life insurance, and I can get along nicely on his pension. And you're a first-class secretary—rector after rector has said that. So you can easily find another position."

      "You find another job, Sue," interposed Hattie, "and my mother will invite your mother to Buffalo to live. I'll bequeath my room." She laughed.

      Mrs. Milo ignored her. "But while I am forced to live here, I shall protect the Rectory. Furthermore, I shall tell Mr. Farvel so." She turned toward the library.

      "Oh, mother, no!" Sue followed, and caught at her mother's arm. "Not today! There's a dear, sweet mother!"

      "Sue!" cried Hattie. Her look questioned the other anxiously.

      But Mrs. Milo felt no concern for the minister. She freed herself from Sue's hold. "You seem very much worried about him," she returned jealously, staring at Sue.

      "You think he's unhappy?" persisted Hattie.

      "There!" exclaimed Sue. "You see, mother? Hattie's worried, too. It's natural, isn't it, Hattie?"

      "Well, it's all nonsense," pronounced Mrs. Milo. "He isn't unhappy. Wallace has known him longer than we have, and he says Mr. Farvel has always been like that."

      Sue patted her mother's cheek playfully. "Then let's not make him any sadder," she said. "Everything must be 'Bless you, my children' around this place today. We don't want any 'Earth to earth, ashes to ashes.'" She gave her parent a hearty kiss.

      Mrs. Milo was at once mollified. "I hope," she went on gently, "that Mr.

       Farvel didn't have to know why Hattie is being married here instead of in

       Buffalo."

      Sue made a comical face. "I explained," she began roguishly, "that the

       Rectory is—er—neutral territory."

      "Neutral," repeated Hattie, with a hint of bitterness.

      Once more a jealous light had crept into Mrs. Milo's blue eyes. "Why should you give Mr. Farvel the confidences of the family?" she demanded.

      "I had to." Sue threw up helpless hands. "Mr. Balcome refused to walk down the aisle with Mrs. Balcome after the ceremony. That meant no Church. Then he refused to have her stand beside him in here. But he can't refuse to gather on the lawn!"

      "Sue," said Hattie, "you have a trusting nature."

      "But what's he afraid of?" Sue asked. "She wouldn't bite him."

      "Who wouldn't bite who?"

      The three turned toward the vestibule door. A large person was entering—a lady, in an elaborate street gown of a somewhat striking plum-color, crowned by an ample hat with spreading, fern-like plumes. About her throat was a veritable cascade of white crêpe collar; and against the crêpe, carried high, and appearing not unlike a decoration, was a tiny buff-and-black dog.

      "Ah, my dear!" cried Mrs. Milo, warmly.

      Sue chuckled. "I was just remarking, Mrs. Balcome," she replied, "that you wouldn't bite Hattie's father."

      Mrs. Balcome, her face dyeing with the effort, set down the tiny dog upon the cherished Brussels. "Don't be so sure!" she cautioned. She had a deep voice that rumbled.

      Hattie pointed a finger at Sue. "Ah-h-a-a-a!" she triumphed.

      "Ah-h-a-a-a-a!" mocked her mother. Then coming closer, and looking the wedding-dress over critically, "Rehearsing, eh, in your wedding-dress! What would Buffalo think if it saw you!" With which rebuff, she sank, blowing, upon the couch, and drew Mrs. Milo down beside her.

      "Oh, why didn't you have your parents toss up?" asked Sue.

      "Pitchforks?" inquired Hattie.

      "No! To see which one would be unavoidably called out of town."

      "Oh, I've tried compromise," said the girl, wearily.

      "Well, ABC mediation never was much of a success up around Buffalo," went on Sue, her eyes twinkling with fun. "Ho-hum! The Secretary of State"—she indicated herself—"will see what she can do." And strolling to the sofa, "Mrs. Balcome, hadn't we better talk this rehearsal over with the head of the house?"

      Mrs. Balcome swept round. "Talk?" she cried. "Talk? Why, I never speak to him."

      Sue gasped. "Wha-a-at?"

      "Never," confirmed Hattie. "And he never talks to her—except through me."

      Sue was incredulous. "You mean——" And pantomimed, pointing from an imaginary speaker to Hattie; from Hattie to a second speaker; then back.

      "Exactly."

      Sue pretended to be overwhelmed. She sank to a chair. "Oh, that sounds wonderful!" she cried. "I want to try it!"

      "That new job you're looking for," suggested Hattie. "You know I resign tomorrow."

      Sue rose and struck an absurd attitude. "Behold Susan Milo, the Human

       Telephone!" she announced. And to Hattie's mother, "Where is Mr.

       Balcome?"

      By now, Mrs. Balcome had entirely recovered her breath. "Where he is," she answered calmly, "or what he does, is of no importance to me." She picked at the crêpe cascade.

      Sue exchanged a look with her mother. "Well—er—he'll be here?" she ventured.

      Mrs. Balcome lifted her ample shoulders. "I don't know, and I don't care." She fell to caressing the dog.

      Sue nodded understandingly to Hattie. "The Secretary of State," she declared, "is going to have her hands full." Whereupon the two sat down at either side of the center table, leaned their arms upon it, and gave themselves up to paroxysms of

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