however, the usual Sunday morning drama of despatching him to
Sunday-school in presentable condition was enacted. At every
moment his voice could be heard uplifted in shrill expostulation
and debate. No, his hands were clean enough, and he didn't see
why he had to wear that little old pink tie; and, oh! his new
shoes were too tight and hurt his sore toe; and he wouldn't, he
wouldn't--no, not if he were killed for it, change his shirt. Not
for a moment did Travis lose her temper with him. But "very
well," she declared at length, "the next time she saw that little
Miner girl she would tell her that he had said she was his beau-
heart. NOW would he hold still while she brushed his hair?"

At a few minutes before eleven Travis and her father went to
church. They were Episcopalians, and for time out of mind had
rented a half-pew in the church of their denomination on
California Street, not far from Chinatown. By noon the family
reassembled. at dinner-table, where Mr. Bessemer ate his chicken-
heart--after Travis had thrice reminded him of it--and expressed
himself as to the sermon and the minister's theology: sometimes to
his daughter and sometimes to himself.

After dinner Howard and Snooky foregathered in the nursery with
their beloved lead soldiers; Travis went to her room to write
letters; and Mr. Bessemer sat in the bay window of the dining-room
reading the paper from end to end.

At five Travis bestirred herself. It was Victorine's afternoon
out. Travis set the table, spreading a cover of blue denim edged
with white braid, which showed off the silver and the set of
delft--her great and never-ending joy--to great effect. Then she