and take it away. This would be, she reflected, the quiet, dignified,
lady-like thing to do. And the morrow, she decided, would be an
admirable day on which to do it.

Therefore, on the morrow she carefully decked Theodora in small finery,
hung garlands of red and yellow maple leaves upon the perambulator,
twined chains of winter-green berries about its handle, tied a bunch of
gorgeous golden rod to its parasol, and trundled it by devious and
obscure ways to the sacred precincts of God's house.

"They look real well," she commented. "If I was sure about that goat I
might keep the cart, but it really ain't the right kind for a goat. I
guess I'd better take 'em back just like they are an' when the Lord sees
how I got 'em all fancied up, he'll know I ain't a careless child, an'
maybe I'd get that goat after all."

So the disprized little gifts of God were bumped up the church steps,
wheeled up the aisle, and bestowed in a prominent spot before the
chancel rail. Some one was playing soft music at the unseen organ, but
Mary accepted soft music as a phenomenon natural to churches, and failed
to connect it with human agency. Sedately she set out Theodora's bows
and ruffles to the best advantage. Carefully she rearranged the floral
decorations of the perambulator, and set her elastic understudy in
erratic motion. Complacently she surveyed the whole and walked out into
the sunshine--free. And presently the minister, the intricacies of a new
hymn reconciled to the disabilities of a lack of ear and a lack of
training, came out into the body of the church, where the gifts of God,
bland in smiles and enwreathed in verdure, were waiting to be taken
away.

"Mrs. Buckley's baby," was his first thought. "I wonder where that queer
little Mary is," was his second. And his third, it came when he was
tired of waiting for some solution of his second, was an embarrassed
realization that he would be obliged to take his unexpected guest home
to its mother. And the quiet town of Arcady rocked upon its foundations
as he did it.

"In the church," marveled Mrs. Buckley. "How careless of Mary!" she
apologized, and "How good of you!" she smiled. "No, I'm not in the least
worried. She always had a way of trotting off to her own diversions when
she was not with her father. And lately she has been astonishingly
patient about spending her time with baby. I have felt quite guilty,
about it. But after to-day she will be free, as Mr. Buckley has found