"Not only your sons, but your girls, too," growled another man. "My kid says this is your Marjorie's fist." "Well, well, what are the letters all about?" asked Mr. Fulton, who did not like the attitude of the complainants. "Read 'em, and see!" was the quick response, and half a dozen letters were thrust toward the two gentlemen. Mr. Fulton adjusted his glasses, and both he and Mr. Maynard quickly scanned the notes that were only too surely the work of their own children. "The signature is misleading," said Mr. Fulton, who was inwardly shaking with laughter at the absurd epistles, but who preserved a serious countenance; "but I feel sure it means 'The Village Improvement Society.' I have often thought such a society would be a good thing for our town, but I didn't know one had been started." "But who _is_ the society? A lot of youngsters?" demanded John Kellogg. "Ahem! These documents would lead one to think so, wouldn't they?" said Mr. Fulton, suavely. But the offended men were not to be so easily placated. "See here," said one of them, assuming a threatening tone, "these 'ere letters is insults; that's what I call 'em!" "And I!" "Me, too!" said several others. "And as they is insults," went on the first speaker, "we wants satisfaction; that's what we wants!" "Yes, yes!" "We do!" chorused the crowd. Mr. Fulton and Mr. Maynard were decidedly nonplussed. It was difficult to take the matter seriously, and yet, as these men were so incensed, it might make an unpleasant publicity for the two families, unless they placated the angry recipients of those foolish letters. Mr. Maynard was a quick thinker, and a man of more even disposition and affable demeanor than Mr. Fulton. So Mr. Maynard, with a nod at his friend, jumped up on a chair and began to address the crowd, as if he were on a public platform. "My friends and fellow-townsmen," he said: "in the first place, Mr. Fulton and I want to admit that these letters which you have received are without doubt the work of our own children. They were written entirely without our knowledge or consent, and they represent a childish endeavor to do well, but they do not show experience, or familiarity with grown people's ways of dealing with these matters. We, therefore, apologize to you for the offence our children have caused you, and trust that, as most of you have children of your own, you will appreciate the facts of the case, and forgive the well-meaning, but ill-doing, little scamps." Mr. Maynard's pleasant voice and genial smile went far to establish good-feeling, and many voices murmured, "Aw, that's all right," or, "Little scalawags, ain't they?"