eparate corners of the room issued sounds of joy and
fulfillment.

With an impulse quite surprising even to herself Flame thrust both
hands into the Lay Reader's clasp.

"You _are_ nice, aren't you?" she quickened. In an instant of weakness
one hand crept up to the blinding bandage, and recovered its honor as
instantly. "Oh, I do wish I _could_ see you," sighed Flame. "You're so
good-looking! Even Mother thinks you're _so_ good-looking!... Though
she does get awfully worked up, of course, about your 'amorous eyes'!"

"Does your Mother think I've got ... 'amorous eyes'?" asked the Lay
Reader a bit tersely. Behind his spectacles as he spoke the orbs in
question softened and glowed like some rare exotic bloom under glass.
"Does your Mother ... think I've got amorous eyes?"

"Oh, yes!" said Flame.

"And your Father?" drawled the Lay Reader.

"Why, Father says _of course_ you've got 'amorous eyes'!" confided
Flame with the faintest possible tinge of surprise at even being asked
such a question. "That's the funny thing about Mother and Father,"
chuckled Flame. "They're always saying the same thing and meaning
something entirely different by it. Why, when Mother says with her
mouth all pursed up, 'I have every reason to believe that Mr. Lorello
is engaged to the daughter of the Rector in his former Parish,' Father
just puts back his head and howls, and says, 'Why, _of course_, Mr.
Lorello is engaged to the daughter of the Rector in his former Parish!
All Lay Readers...."

In the sudden hush that ensued a faint sense of uneasiness flickered
through Flame's shoulders.

"Is it you that have hushed? Or the dogs?" she asked.

"The dogs," said the Lay Reader.

Very cautiously, absolutely honorably, Flame turned her back to the
Lay Reader, and lifted the bandage just far enough to prove the Lay
Reader's assertion.

Bulging with mush the four dogs lay at rest on rounding sides with
limp legs straggling, or crouched like lions' heads on paws, with
limpid eyes blinking above yawny mouths.

"O--h," crooned Flame. "How sweet! Only, of course, with what's to
follow," she regretted thriftily, "it's an awful waste of mush....
Excelsior warmed in the oven would have served just as well."

At the threat of a shadow across her eyeball she jerked the bandage
back into place.

"Now, Mr. Lorello," she suggested blithely, "if you'll get the
Bibles...."

"Bibles?" stiffened the Lay Reader. "Bibles? Why, really, Miss Flame,
I cou