istraught mind, or an indulgence in a love of publicity, it would be
hard to say.

His sharp-featured face and long, luxurious iron-gray hair, which he
sometimes wore knotted up like a woman's, marked him wherever he went.
Even those who thought him the possessor of a mind diseased agreed that
he was quite harmless.

He came and went as he pleased, often preaching on street corners a
doctrine which included a belief in George Washington as a supernatural
being; and he was patriotic to the core.

Sometimes bad boys made fun of him, and followed and pelted him in the
street; but, of course, the Corner House girls, who were kind to
everybody and everything, would not have thought of harrying the queer
old man, or ridiculing him.

Occasionally Seneca Sprague wrote and had printed a tract in which he
ramblingly expressed his religious and patriotic beliefs, and an edition
of this tract he was now selling from house to house in Milton. Ruth
had, of course, purchased one and as Tess and Dot came into the old
Corner House yard, Mr. Sprague was just turning away from the door, and
had caught sight of the expectant congregation of pets gathered below
him.

"Lo, and behold! lo, and behold!" ejaculated Seneca Sprague, in a solemn
and resonant voice. "What saith the Scriptures? Him that hath ears to
hear, let him hear."

Every cat's ears were pricked forward expectantly and even Tom Jonah
lifted his glossy ears--probably hearing Mrs. MacCall's step at the
kitchen door. Billy Bumps lifted a ruminant head and blatted softly.

"Thus saith the prophet," went on Seneca Sprague, in his sing-song tone.
"There is yet a little time in which man may repent. Then cometh the
Crack o' Doom! Beware! beware! beware!"

Here Dot whispered to Tess: "How did Mr. Seneca Sprague come to know so
much about prophets, and what's going to happen, and all that? And what
_is_ the Crack o' Doom?"

"Mercy, I don't know, child!" exclaimed Tess. "I'm sure _I_ didn't crack
it."

The queer old man was interrupted just here, too, by Ruth Kenway's
reappearance upon the porch. Ruth was a very intelligent looking girl,
if not exactly a pretty one. She was dark and her hair was black; she
had warm, brown eyes and a sweet, steady smile that pleased most people.

"Oh, Mr. Sprague!" she said, attracting that queer individual's
attention. He actually swept off his torn straw hat and bowed before
her.

Ruth's voice was low and pleasant. Mrs. MacCall said she