Josie's face was very red. It was different asking about a boy. She had not thought of that. "We want Charles to go to singing-school with us next Saturday. Mr. Bradbury said we might ask all the _nice_ children we knew." Hanny had crossed the Rubicon in a very lady-like manner. Mr. Reed laughed pleasantly, but they knew he was not making fun of them. "Why, yes; I haven't any objection. It will be as his mother says." They all looked blank, disappointed. "If _you_ would say it," pleaded Josie. "Then we should be sure." "Well, I will say it. He shall go next Saturday. He has a nice voice, and there is no reason why he should not be singing with the rest of you." "Oh, thank you a thousand times." "It's hardly worth that." Mr. Reed was a little nettled. Had Charles put them up to this? They were at the corner and turned down their side of the street, nodding gayly. "You see it was just as easy as nothing," remarked Josie complacently. Mr. Reed entered his own area, wiped his feet, and hung up his hat. He went out in the back area and washed his hands. Every other day a clean towel was put on the roller. The house was immaculate. The supper-table was set. Mrs. Reed was finishing a block of patchwork, catch-up work, when she had to wait two minutes. She went out in the hall taking the last stitch, and called up the stairway: "John Robert Charles!" Meals were generally very quiet. Charles had been trained not to speak unless he was spoken to. Once or twice his father looked at him. A pinafore was rather ridiculous on such a big boy. How very large his white collar was! His hair looked too sleek. He was a regular Miss Nancy. He helped his mother take out the dishes and wiped them for her. "Come out on the stoop, Charles," said his father afterward, as he picked up his paper. Mrs. Reed wondered if Charles had committed some overt act that she knew nothing about. _Could_ anything elude her sharp eyes? Mr. Reed pretended to be busy with his paper, but he was thinking of his son. In his early years the child had been a bone of contention. His mother always knew just what to do with him, just what was proper, and would brook no interference. What with her cleanliness, her inordinate love of regularity and order, she had become a domestic tyrant. He had yielded because he loved peace. There was a good deal of comfort in his house. He went out two or three evenings in the week, to the lodge, to his whist club, and occasionally to call on a friend. Mrs. Reed never had any time to waste on such trifling matters. He had not thought much about his boy except to place him in a good school. "Charles, couldn't you have asked me about the singing-school?" he said rather sharply. "About--the singing-school?" Charles was dazed. "Yes. It wasn't very manly to set a lot of little girls asking a favor for you. I'm ashamed of you!"