"It's hot--" she remarked plaintively. "I think I'll go into the
garden--" Her grandfather nodded. She slipped through the French
windows out to the narrow balcony and down the circular iron stairway.

A thousand million stars above her, shining through the tops of the
old trees of heaven--a tender breeze that blew Marthy's curtains ever
so gently and let the wistaria banners stream back and forth--if she
shoved it carefully, that smallest iron bench, and then stood tiptoe
upon it, she could peer through the top of the gate into the rectory
yard.

Fairy land! A score of merry young humans dashing about--a babble of
noise and laughter and the dyspeptic choir master nearly wild with the
confusion--"Order! Order!" he screamed, "Ladies and gentlemen! Boys!
Kindly remember this is the last rehearsal, the final rehearsal! When
the organist begins the choir should file in very slowly--the
principals remain outside until the choir is in--I would like the
tenor and the baritone soloists' voices to sound as far off as
possible as they approach--will those gentlemen be so good as to stand
at the extreme end of the yard?"

Felicia, behind the ivied gate, caught her breath. For as the rather
disorderly procession drifted away through the arch the soloists moved
easily toward her. One of them was disgracefully fat, he puffed as he
mopped his brow, but the other walked lightly, tossing his cap
boyishly as he walked. Close to the wall, he laughed, a youthful,
buoyant laugh,

"Jove!" he ejaculated, "Now I _have_ done it--my cap's on top of the