"I can tell you about them," said the pastor. "Yes, they are new, every one of them, and they are ours if we vote to accept them. I have very little doubt but that we will accept them, for they were bought by our own money which we had deliberately and in sound mind dedicated to that purpose." He further explained that the money was procured by a system of decimal notation not so thoroughly understood as it ought to be; it had long been known that ten times one were ten, but the power of the number ten divided into tenths, and circulating freely and repeating themselves after the peculiar manner of decimals, was not generally understood or appreciated. We were indebted to the rising generation for many things, and not the least among them, in this church hereafter, would, he thought, be the exposition of the power of circulating decimals. Had the pastor suddenly become insane? What in the world was he talking about! The opposing forces forgot their opposition and were lost in a common curiosity. Why were people looking over to those girls in Mrs. Jones's class? What had they to do with it? Hark! The pastor was speaking again. He had forgotten certain statements that he was to make. One was, that these books were not evolved from cake and pickles, nor yet from tidies and slippers; but were the representatives of the value of systematic offerings, and systematic work done by individuals and individually devoted to this cause. Another was a request that, for reasons which would be better understood in the future than they now were, the library be named the "Jennie Stuart Library." And still another was the announcement that, as the library pledges held good until the signers erased their own names, the collectors would still continue their duties, hoping, by this means, to render any future leanness of library shelves an impossibility in Penn Avenue Church. Light was beginning to dawn, albeit it was still much obscured by fog. The "Jennie Stuart Library." She was one of Mrs. Jones's girls. Decimals—one, two, three—well, there were just ten of them; it had not been noticed before. But how could they have secured such a library as that? Could it be possible that that little ten-cent affair of theirs had grown to such dimensions! I suppose it is needless to tell you that the threatened storm blew over, and smiles and congratulatory speeches ruled the hour. The decimal class received a vote of thanks, which overwhelmed them with blushes; their suggestions were adopted by a unanimous vote. Penn Avenue rose to the acknowledgment of the fact that the only proper way to manage a Sabbath-school library was to have a standing committee to supply and add new books, in monthly installments. Of course the opposition to the appropriation for the new carpet was withdrawn, and gracefully, too. Everybody was willing to have a new carpet.