s very apt to
be at other folks' expense."

The guest, mamma and Elsie having been helped, it was now Vi's turn to
claim papa's attention.

"What shall I send you, daughter?" he asked.

"Oh nothing, papa, please! no, no, I can't eat live things," she said
half shuddering.

"It is not alive my child."

Violet looked utterly bewildered: she had never known her father to say
anything that was not perfectly true, yet how could she disbelieve the
evidence of her own senses?

"Papa, could it hollow so loud when it was dead?" she asked
deprecatingly.

"It did not, my little darling; 'twas I," said Cousin Ronald, preventing
papa's reply, "the chick seemed to make the noise but it was really I."

Papa and mamma both confirmed this statement and the puzzled child
consented to partake of the mysterious fowl.

Minna, standing with her basket of keys at the back of her mistress's
chair, Tom and Prilla, waiting on the table, had been as much startled
and mystified by the chicken's sudden outcry as Vi herself, and seized
with superstitious fears, turned almost pale with terror.

Mr. Lilburn's assertion and the concurrent assurance of their master and
mistress, relieved their fright; but they were still full of
astonishment, and gazed at the guest with wonder and awe.

Of course the story was told in the kitchen and created much curiosity
and excitement there.

This excitement was, however, soon lost in a greater when the news of
the expected attack from the Ku Klux circulated among them an hour or
two later.

It could not be kept from the children, but they were calmed and soothed
by mamma's assurance, "God will take care of us, my darlings, and help
papa, grandpa and the rest to drive the bad men away."

"Mamma," said Vi, "we little ones can't fight, but if we pray a good
deal to God, will that help?"

"Yes, daughter, for the Bible tells us God is the hearer and answerer of
prayer."

Elsie herself seemed entirely free from agitation and alarm; full of
hope and courage, she inspired those about her with the same feelings;
the domestic machinery moved on in its usual quiet, regular fashion.

The kitchen department it is true, was the scene of much earnest talk,
but the words were spoken with bated breath, and many an anxious glance
from door and window, as if the speakers feared the vicinity of some
lurking foe.

Aunt Dicey was overseeing the making of a huge kettle of soft soap.

"Tears like dis yer's a long