th hearing; and have you heard him talk?"

"No."

"Well, he can talk; you will hear him, and enjoy it, too; see if you
don't. But I'll tell you what it is, young lady, to know him thoroughly
you ought to hear him pray! There is the real power in a man. Let me
know how a man can pray and I'll risk his talking."

Eurie had got much more information now than she had asked for. She
ventured on no more questions, but made all haste to her tent, where,
seated upon a corner of the bed, one foot tucked under her while the
unfortunate shoe tried to dry, she sewed industriously on the zig-zag
tear in her dress, and tried to imagine what she could do next.
Certainly they had long days at Chautauqua. "I shall go to meeting this
afternoon," she said, resolutely, "if they have three sermons, each an
hour long; and what is more, I shall find out where that Sunday-school
lesson is."

The next thing she did was to write a letter to her brother Nellis, a
dashing boy two years her senior and her favorite companion in her
search for pleasure. Here is a copy of the letter:

"DEAR NEL: I wish you were here. Chautauqua isn't so funny as it might
be. There are some things that are done here continually. In the first
place, it rains. Why, you never saw anything like it! It just can't help
it. The sun puts on a bland face and looks glowing intentions, and while
you are congratulating your next neighbor on the prospect, she is
engaged in clutching frantically after her umbrella to save her hat from
the first drops of the new shower. Next, they have meetings, and there
is literally no postponement on account of the weather. It is really
funny to see the way in which the people rush when the bell rings, rain
or shine. Nel, only think of Flossy Shipley going in the rain to hear a
man preach of the 'Influence of the Press,' or something of that sort!
It was good though, worth hearing. I went myself, because, of course,
one must do something, and the frantic fashion of the place is to go to
meeting. At the same time I don't understand Flossy: she is different
from what she ever was at home. I suppose it is the force of the many
shining examples all around her. You know she always was a good little
sheep about following somebody's lead.

"Marion is reporting, and has to be industrious. She is queer, Nel; she
professes infidelity, you know; and you have no idea how mad she gets
over anything that seems to be casting reproach on Christianity (u