The little figure filled itself with a long, deep breath. The high, clear note merged into one with the notes of the chorus. It touched the tones of the accompaniment in harmony true, and swelled into grand, triumphant music. "He looks like he did arter the fever," thought Amarilly anxiously. When he came down the aisle with the choir, the ethereal look had left his face, and he was again a happy little boy. He gave his mother a gay nod, and bestowed a wink upon the Boarder. He waited outside and the family wended their way homeward. There had not been time to bring in the clothes before leaving, but a willing neighborhood had guarded the premises for them, so Clothes-line Park was shrouded in a whiteness that looked ghostly in the moonlight. They made quite an affair of the evening in honor of Bud's song, and their introduction to Lily Rose. There were fried sausages, coffee, sandwiches, and pork cake. "The organist told me," announced Bud at supper, "that he was agoin' to train my voice, and I could be soloist at Grace Church and git five dollars a Sunday, and after a while I could git ten." "You'll be a millynaire," prophesied Bobby in awed tones. "Guess we'll be on Easy Street now," shouted Cory. "We won't be nuthin' of the kind," snapped Amarilly. "It's agoin' to all be banked fer Bud." "I guess," said Bud, in his quiet, little old-man way, "I'm the one to hev the say. I'm agoin' to give ma two dollars a week and bank the rest." Meanwhile John was having an uncomfortable time as he walked home with Colette. He had started on the trail of the surplice the day before. The "tenner" and the young ladies who had given the tableaux had been interviewed, but in neither case had the mysterious pocket been discovered. To-day he had visited the Beehive, but no one in the store had paid any attention to the pocket, or knew of its existence. Colette remained obdurate to his pleadings. She assumed that he was entirely to blame for the loss, and seemed to take a gleeful delight in showing him how perverse and wilful she could be. To-night he found himself less able than usual to cope with her caprices, so he began to talk of impersonal matters and dwelt upon the beauties of Bud's voice, and the astonishing way in which it had developed. She admitted that Bud's voice was indeed wonderful, but maintained that Mrs. Jenkins's poppy hat and white gloves had been far surpassing in the way of surprises. "Did you ever, John, see anything more shoutingly funny?" "It wasn't funny, Colette," he said wistfully, and he proceeded to relate the history of the hat as he had heard it from the bishop that day. [Illustration: To-night he found himself less able than usual to cope with her caprices] And though in the depths of her heart Colette was touched by the pathos of the purchase, she must needs tread again the feminine labyrinth instead of following the more natural and open path. "Who was the young girl with the Boarder?" John next vouchsafed.