The bishop readily assented, but sought the reason for the request. "My mother is comin' to the recital, but she ain't got no fixin's. I'm goin' to buy her a hat." "I am glad you think of your mother, my lad, but it would be well to let some older person select it for you. My housekeeper--" Bud's refusal was emphatic. He knew the kind of hat his mother wanted, and he had noted her quickly suppressed look of disappointment at the sombre hat donated by Mrs. Hudgers on the day of the police-court attendance. Upon receiving the five dollars he went directly to the Fashion Emporium, where the windows were filled with a heterogeneous assortment of gayly trimmed hats, marked enticingly with former and present prices. "I want a hat kivered with flowers," he announced. "Who for?" asked the young saleswoman. "For my mother." "How would you like a nice flower toque like this?" displaying a headgear of modest forget-me-nots. "That's all faded. Ain't you got any red flowers? If you haven't, I know a store where they keep 'em." The girl instantly sacrificed her ideas of what was fitting to the certainty of a sale, and quickly produced a hat of green foliage from which rose long-stemmed, nodding red poppies, "a creation marked down to three-ninety-eight," she informed him. "That's the kind! I'll take it and a pair of white gloves, too, if you've got some big ones fer a dollar." Bud hastened home with his purchases. His mother was quite overcome by the sight of such finery. "I never thought to be dressed up again," she exclaimed on the eventful night, "No one has bought me nuthin' to wear sence your pa died. I feel like I was some one outen a book." The entire family, save Iry, who was put to bed at a neighbor's, went to the recital. The Boarder took Lily Rose, who was quite flustered at her first appearance with the family. John and Colette occupied a pew directly opposite the family. Mr. Vedder and Pete were also in attendance. When the bishop came from the vestry and walked down the aisle to his pew, his eyes fell upon the worn, seamed face of Bud's mother, the weary patient eyes in such odd contrast to the youthful turban with its smartly dancing flowers. Something stirred in his well-regulated heart, and he carefully wiped his glasses. At the signal from the choirmaster for the solo of the oratorio, Bud arose. An atom of a boy he looked in the vast, vaulted chancel, and for the first time he knew fear at the thought of singing. It was a terrible thing, after all, to face this sea of staring, dancing people. As lightning reaches to steel, the gay poppies nodding so nervously above his mother's white, anxious face sought the courage place within, and urged him on. He felt himself back in Clothes-line Park, alone with his mother and the blue sky.