inhabitants of boy-land.

"Of course he's hungry, bless his little heart," answered Mother as
she removed the fez and ruffled up the damp curls. "Run fetch the
tea-cake bucket from the kitchen safe, 'Liza, and won't you come sit
down, Deacon?"

"No, thank you, Sister," answered the Deacon with a glance of real
regret at the comfortable rocker Miss Wingate had hastened to draw
forward into a sunny but sheltered corner of the porch, "I'm on my
way to take tea with Sister Pratt. I'm to meet Mrs. Bostick there.
How's the throat, child?" And his smile up at the singer lady was
one of the most sympathetic interest.

"Better, thank you, I think," said Miss Wingate, answering both
question and smile. "How well you are looking to-day, Deacon!"

"Why, I'm made over new by that boy of a Doctor," said the Deacon,
fairly beaming with enthusiasm. "Your cure will be only a matter of
time, a matter of time, my dear--Squire Tutt to the contrary," he
added with a chuckle.

"There, bless my heart, if my ears ain't heard two testimonies to
Tom Mayberry all in one minute!" exclaimed Mother with a delighted
laugh. "Have a cake, won't you, Deacon?" she asked, offering the
bucket.

She then established Eliza and the small stranger on the edge of the
steps, with an admonition as to the disposal of the crumbs over on
to the grass, and filled both pairs of hands with the crisp discs.