"I have always told Rosalie it was silly to be constantly finding mystery in every little thing--but I see now that mystery is more fun than anything else. The silly old thing--why he must be nearly as old as father. But how he does laugh! He isn't a minister, that's certain. And he isn't a doctor, for everybody knows doctors, besides they always talk shop. And he doesn't look like a worker--I mean a hard worker-- Isn't it ridiculous? What do I care who he is--but it is lots of fun." As they sat at dinner, Rosalie said suddenly, "Oh, father, you must scold the General. She is getting very worldly. She was flirting with a stranger in the congregation. She picked out a handsome man, and kept looking at him, and he smiled at her, and she asked if I knew him right in the middle of the second point." "Could you know him in the second point if you didn't know him anywhere else?" demanded Zee. "There wasn't a handsome man in church except father," declared Treasure. "General, I am astonished," said their father with smiling eyes and solemn face. "Don't you believe her. He wasn't a stranger in the first place, and in the second I only looked at him once--or twice," she finished feebly. "Oh, what a story. He was, too, a stranger. Didn't you ask if I knew him?" "I can't remember his name. But I met him at the Country Club da--party. I talked to him there quite a lot, and--" "Oh, you dangerous girl! You know, father, these quiet modest ones--look out! They always make trouble. No wonder you had such a glorious time--flirting with a stranger." "Rosalie," said Doris with intense dignity. "I did not flirt. I just talked, and we talk to everybody, don't we--we preachers?" "But who is he?" This, it seemed, only Providence could tell. "Why didn't you ask him?" Doris hedged quickly. It was all very well to play mystery with that Aggravating Thing, but she had a strong feeling it would sound ridiculous to the family, and they were such laughers. The day of rest, truly--but always a stormy one for families of parsonage and manse. They had not finished dinner when the superintendent of the Sunday-school called Mr. Artman to the phone. "Miss Munsing says she will not keep her class any longer," he protested peevishly. "I want you to talk to her. Why, she is one of our very best teachers, young and lively, and her girls adore her. She says she is not capable, or some such nonsense--bright clever girl like that. You talk to her, will you? She promised to see you this afternoon." Mr. Artman shook his head despairingly as he returned to the table. "You women," he said. "You don't know how upsetting you are. I would have sworn that Miss Munsing was more in harmony with her work than any teacher in the school, and here she throws up her hands." "Do you mean she is giving up the class, father?" asked Treasure breathlessly. "Just that. Says she is not capable, or something." "Why, Treasure, isn't she your teacher? And you all love her, don't you?"