"Well, I--I was sort of--poking around." "St!"--an exclamation of impatience. Then, "Churches are not made to poke in." Now there came to Sue that look that suggested a little girl, and a naughty little girl at that. She turned on her mother a beguiling smile. "I--I was--er--poking in the vestry," she explained. Mrs. Milo observed that the bay-window held a young person in white satin, who was sitting very still, and was all attention. She managed a faint returning smile, therefore, and assumed a playful tone. "The vestry is not a part of your duties as secretary," she reminded. "And there's so much to do, my daughter,--the decorations, the caterer, the----" "I know, mother. I shan't neglect a thing." Sue swayed a little, to the clutch of a small hand dragging at her skirt. "And as I've said before, I prefer that you'd take all of Mr. Farvel's dictation in the library; I don't want you hanging about in the vestry unless I'm with you.--Will you please pay attention to what I'm saying?"--this with much patience. Over one arm, folded, Sue carried a garment of ministerial black. This she now unfolded and spread, the better to hide the boy crouching closest at her back. "Oh, yes, mother dear," she admitted reassuringly. "Yes." "And what is that you have?" The tone might have been used to a child. Hurriedly Sue doubled the black lengths. "It's--it's just a vestment," she explained, embarrassed. "Please." Mrs. Milo held out a white hand. To go forward and lay the vestment in that hand meant to disclose the presence of the hiding quartette. With quick forethought, Sue leaned far forward in what might be mistaken for a bow, tipped her head gaily to one side, and stretched an arm to proffer the offending garment. "Here, motherkins! It's in need of mending." Mrs. Milo tossed the vestment to the piano. "What has your work--your accounts and statements and stenography--what have they to do with the Rector's mending?" she demanded. "Well, mother, I used to mend for the last minister." "Oh, my daughter!" mourned Mrs. Milo. "Ye-e-e-s, mother?"--fearful that the boys were at last discovered. "Do you mean to say that you see no difference in mending for a single man? a young man? an utter stranger?" Sue heaved a sigh of relief. "Mother darling," she protested fondly; "hardly a stranger." "We'll not discuss it," said her mother gently; then taking a more judicial attitude, "Now, I'll speak to those boys." Long experience had shown Sue Milo that there were times when it was best to put off the evil moment, since at any juncture something quite unforeseen--such as an unexpected arrival--might solve her difficulty. This was such an occasion. So with over-elaborate care, she proceeded to outline the forthcoming program of the morning. "You see, mother, we're to rehearse--choir and all. They'll march from the library, right across here----" She indicated the route of procession.