yours truly, and so forth." He backed away, and the others rose.

"Pass through the kitchen, gentlemen," said Mrs. Sproul, eagerly.
"I will set out a treat." They trudged that way with deep bows at
the threshold to their newly drafted foreman, who still glared at
them speechlessly.

When Mrs. Sproul returned at length, still fluttering in her
excitement, he was reading the little pamphlet that had been left
with him, a brick-red color slowly crawling up the back of his neck.

"Just think of it for an honor, Aaron," she stammered, "and you here
in town only such a little while! Oh, I am so proud of you! Mr. Murray
brought the things in his team and left them on the piazza. I'll run
and get them."

She spread them on the sitting-room floor, kneeling before him like
a priestess offering sacrifice. With his thumb in the pamphlet, he
stared at the array.

There was a battered leather hat with a broad apron, or scoop, behind
to protect the back. On a faded red shield above the visor was the
word "Foreman." There were two equally battered leather buckets.
There was a dented speaking-trumpet. These the Cap'n dismissed one
by one with an impatient scowl. But he kicked at one object with his
well foot.

"What's that infernal thing?" he demanded.

"A bed-wrench, Aaron. It's to take apart corded beds so as to get