couldn't have asked a better interpretation of his own vital principles.
But had they come to realize that this after all was the real thing, the
true ideal?

Warble feared.

* * * * *

They were a stuck-up lot. The fly-paper had intrigued them all. Not only
were they all half-soled with it but the merry wags had decorated the
ladies' bare backs and the men's coated backs, until all looked like
sandwich men or peripatetic ragpickers.

Trymie Icanspoon crowned Mrs. Charity Givens with a fresh sheet of
tanglefoot and Warble hilariously made a foolscap of another for the
Rector's bald head. Judge Drinkwater folded Daisy Snow's two little hands
together, then wrapped them tightly in fly-paper, and shook with laughter
to see her futile attempts to get free.

"Naughty man!" she cried, "to make poor little me so helpless!" With a
spring she flung her entangled hands over the Judge's head, and hung round
his neck like a pretty little millstone.

Warble relaxed, and found that she was shockingly tired and very hungry.

But she was the stuff of which true reformers are made and Martin Luther
had nothing on her.

Then Beer came tripping in with a pile of varicolored garments which she
held up to view.