and vanished; the girl who had been sent to Paradise to keep in order
the turbulent children of the foothills stepped down from her chair.

"I'm scared to death of mice," she confessed. My brother Ajax scowled.

"Fancy sending that whey-faced little coward--here!" he whispered to
me.

"Have you taught school before?" I asked.

"Oh yes, indeed," she answered; "and I know something of your foothill
folks. I've been a book agent. Oh, indeed? You know that. Well, I did
first-rate, but that was the book, which sold itself--a beautiful
book. Maybe you know it--_The Milk of Human Kindness_? When we're
better acquainted, I'd like to read you," she looked hard at Ajax,
"some o' my favourite passages."

"Thanks," said Ajax stiffly.

Next day was Sunday. At breakfast the schoolmarm asked Ajax if there
was likely to be a prayer-meeting.

"A prayer-meeting, Miss Buchanan?"

"It's the Sabbath, you know."

"Yes--er--so it is. Well, you see," he smiled feebly, "the cathedral
isn't built yet."

"Why, what's the matter with the schoolhouse? I presume you're all