"Barney, what in the world are you talking about, saying this church is
no place for you. This is just the place for a boy who gets several
boxes of Christmas candy by mistake. You come right along with me."

"Aw, Nan, why can't you drop it in for me? I just ain't got the nerve.
I'd rather get all my teeth pulled like Hank is going to do. Why, say,
Nan, just the sight of old Austin makes my hair curl. I tell ya he
don't like me and I'll be pinched--"

But Nan had already drawn Billy's spindle-legged assistant inside and
as no man yet had been known to show anything but quiet pride when
escorting Nanny Ainslee, Barney straightened manfully and with an
outward serenity that amazed even himself he gracefully slid into a
seat, having first gallantly stepped aside to permit his gracious lady
to be seated. And life being that morning especially a thing of tender
humor, they had no sooner settled themselves comfortably when Fanny
Foster, the last comer, sank down beside them, breathing heavily.

Fanny Foster was always late for church, not from any notion that a
late entrance was fashionable but because of some hitch in her domestic
affairs. She always explained to the congregation afterward just what
had caused her delay and the congregation was always ready to listen to
her excuses, for they were as a rule highly original ones.

Fate was always sending Fanny the most thrilling experiences at the
most improper times. The children were always falling into the cistern
or setting the barn afire as she was about to start out somewhere. And
such things as buttonhooks and hairpins had a way of disappearing just
when she was in the greatest hurry. Not that the lack of these toilet