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She was followed by Miss Perkins with a bucket of pickles, which Mandy promptly placed on top of Mrs. Elverson's ice cream. The women explained that they had come to put the finishing touches to the decorations. If anything was needed to increase Mandy's dislike of the widow, it was this announcement. Mrs.

Willoughby, with a sly look at the deacons. "And me a-waitin' to discuss the new church service," bellowed Strong. "And me a-waiting to give him Mrs. Elverson's message," piped Elverson. "The church bore all this in silence so long as that girl was sick," snapped Miss Perkins. "But now she's perfectly well, and still a-hanging on. No wonder folks are talking." "Who's talking?" thundered Strong.

It was very thrilling to stand here, on this forbidden ground, smelling the saw-dust, gazing at the big red wagons, studying the unprotected circus properties, and listening to the lightening tempo of the band. "Did you see him?" shouted Strong, who had followed closely upon Elverson's heels. The little deacon started. Strong was certainly a disturbing factor at times. "Yes, I I saw him." "Well?"

The women gazed at each other with lips closed tightly. Elverson's behaviour was beyond their power of expression. Miss Perkins turned to the pastor, as though he were somehow to blame for the deacon's backsliding, but before she could find words to argue the point, the timid little deacon appeared in the doorway, utterly unconscious of the hostile reception that Hasty had prepared for him.

Jim and Douglas had barely left the lot when Deacon Elverson's small, round head slipped cautiously around the corner of the dressing tent. The little deacon glanced exultantly about him. He was monarch of all he surveyed.