Georgie's back was disclosed to the view of the tea-party. He was endeavouring to ascend a maple tree about twelve feet from the window. Embracing the trunk with arms and legs, he had managed to squirm to a point above the heads of Penrod and Herman, who stood close by, watching him earnestly--Penrod being obviously in charge of the performance. Across the yard were Sam Williams and Maurice Levy, acting as a jury on the question of voice-power, and it was to a complaint of theirs that Georgie had just replied. “That's right, Georgie,” said Penrod encouragingly. “They can, too, hear you. Let her go!” “Going to heaven!” shrieked Georgie, squirming up another inch. “Going to heaven, heaven, heaven!” His mother's frenzied attempts to attract his attention failed utterly. Georgie was using the full power of his lungs, deafening his own ears to all other sounds. Mrs. Bassett called in vain; while the tea-party stood petrified in a cluster about the window. “Going to heaven!” Georgie bellowed. “Going to heaven! Going to heaven, my Lord! Going to heaven, heaven, heaven!” He tried to climb higher, but began to slip downward, his exertions causing damage to his apparel. A button flew into the air, and his knickerbockers and his waistband severed relations. “Devil's got my coat-tails, sinners! Old devil's got my coat-tails!” he announced appropriately. Then he began to slide. He relaxed his clasp of the tree and slid to the ground. “Going to hell!” shrieked Georgie, reaching a high pitch of enthusiasm in this great climax. “Going to hell! Going to hell! I'm gone to hell, hell, hell!” With a loud scream, Mrs. Bassett threw herself out of the window, alighting by some miracle upon her feet with ankles unsprained. Mr. Kinosling, feeling that his presence as spiritual adviser was demanded in the yard, followed with greater dignity through the front door. At the corner of the house a small departing figure collided with him violently. It was Penrod, tactfully withdrawing from what promised to be a family scene of unusual painfulness. Mr. Kinosling seized him by the shoulders and, giving way to emotion, shook him viciously. “You horrible boy!” exclaimed Mr. Kinosling. “You ruffianly creature! Do you know what's going to happen to you when you grow up? Do you realize what you're going to BE!” With flashing eyes, the indignant boy made know his unshaken purpose. He shouted the reply: “A minister!” CHAPTER XXVIII TWELVE