“Why, no, I guess my sister Nell’s to blame for that. She suggested it first, and worked it out mostly,” he said. “Indeed, you did it all yourself, Carey,” said Cornelia. “I only wanted it, and Carey did the rest.” “Yes, Gracie, that’s where you’re lacking,” said the minister, laughingly; “you haven’t any brother to carry out your every wish. Only a busy old father, who doesn’t know how.” “My father’s all right!” said the daughter loyally; and Carey with a swift, appraising glance decided that he certainly looked it and that for a minister it certainly was surprising. He had a faint passing wonder what this man’s church might be like. Then they settled down in groups to talk, Carey beside the minister’s daughter, Cornelia beside the minister’s wife, and Mr. Copley with the minister, while Harry and Louise sat down together in the window-seat to watch them all. “Doesn’t Carey look handsome?” whispered the little girl, with her eyes on her elder brother. “My, but I guess he’s mad he didn’t put on his other shirt.” “I should say! Serves him right,” said Harry caustically, yet with a light of pride in his eye. “Say, she’s some bird, isn’t she? Better’n that little chicken we saw him have out last Saturday!” “O Harry! You mustn’t call _any_ girl a chicken. You know what mother would say.” “Well, she _was_ a chicken, wasn’t she?” “I think I’d rather call her a—a fool!” said Louise expressively. “Call her what you like, only don’t call her at all!” said the boy. “Say, doesn’t our sister look great though?” So they sat quietly whispering, picking up bits of the conversation and thinking their wise young thoughts. Mr. Copley’s face looked rested and happy. “My! I wish my wife were at home,” he said wistfully. “You know she’s been very sick, and she’s away getting a rest. But we hope she’ll soon be back with us before many months now. How she would enjoy it to have you run in like this! She’s a great church woman, and she felt it, coming away from the church we have always attended over on the other side of the town——” Then the talk drifted to the little church around the corner, and to its various organizations and activities. “Father ’ll be after you for the choir,” confided the daughter to Carey; “a good tenor is a great find.” “No chance!” said Carey, looking pleased in spite of himself. “I can’t sing.” Then they all began to clamor for Carey to sing; and right in the midst of it there was another knock at the door, and in walked the carpenter and his wife.