The illusion still clung. The present was but the means to an end and beyond lay his hopes. To become a great clown in the circus was the goal. Nor were the little band of minstrels, whose rehearsals had been checked by the fire and the loss of the melodeon, lost sight of. The big finishing room found the little band of amateur minstrels rehearsing almost every night, strange to say, the straight laced old tanner did not object. When several of the nearby neighbors complained of the noise and din, he simply gave orders to limit the rehearsals to 10 p. m. Lin said: "Huh! ef enybody but Alfurd was at the head of it, Sammy Steele would a histed every one on 'em long ago." Lin was peeved. She could not imagine how the singing could be anything without her voice and the melodeon. A tan-yard hand who played the violin by ear had supplanted Lin. She declared he could only "fiddle fer dancin', he couldn't foller singin'. Ye can't foller a fiddle an' sing, ye got to hev a melodeon or accordion. A fiddle wus never made to sing with, hit's all right fer dancin'. Lor', ye never hear any real music less ye got a lead. That's the reason ye never hear any good singin' in Baptus meetin'. They're agin manufactured music, they haven't got enythin' to go by." Lin had joined the Campbellite Church for the reason that it was the furthest from the Baptist belief, so she claimed. Alfred always believed down deep in his heart that Lin had allied herself with that particular denomination for the reason that her vocal abilities were appreciated in the little congregation and for the further reason that the church had an organ. Lin felt her exclusion from the minstrel rehearsals more than she cared to reveal. Alfred did all he could to comfort her. He assured her that Charley Wagner, the violin player, was not nearly so satisfactory as she. "But s'pose I had saved the melodeon"--(Lin always attributed her rejection by the minstrel band to the loss of the melodeon)--"you couldn't a-used it in the tan-yard, it's too damp there and it would spoil the tune of it. Why, it's most ruined my tambourine. Beside," concluded Alfred, "regular minstrels are all men, they don't have any women folks in 'em." His explanation was plausible but it did not satisfy Lin. "Huh! I wasn't good enuf fur yer ole tan-yard pack. I s'pose when ye got a lot of patchin' and sewin' to do, ye'll be callin' on me but ye won't fin' me in. Good bye, Mr. Clown, minstrel. Next time ye try to ak out afore folks I hope ye'll do better en ye did the nite uv the big party." This was a home thrust, it pierced to the quick. Alfred was over sensitive. Often, when the remembrance of the failure alluded to by Lin troubled his mind, he had soothed himself with the hope that few had noticed his failure. But Lin's remark forced the awful feeling upon him that, like Cousin Charley's potato deal, it was known and talked of by the whole town.