said 'personally,' Sister Mandeville," returned the president, "and I
meant personally! I _have_ had dealings with them."

The Coral Strand Missionary Circle was on tip-toe. It was confidently
expected that Mrs. Westfall was about to divulge the details of some of
her secret efforts at self-improvement, and it was something of a
disappointment when she told merely of Karl's triumphant conquest of the
art of swimming without going outside of her own kitchen.

As she paused for rhetorical effect the irrepressible Mrs. Mandeville
inquired,

"But how do you know he can swim?"

There was a suspicion of a titter from the rear seats; but Mrs. Westfall
froze this levity with a glare as she retorted:

"He is, at this very moment, down in swimming with his little
playmates!"

"But if he's never tried it in the water, how do you know he can--"
began Mrs. Mandeville, but before she could finish her question there
was a tremendous slam from the front door, and Biscuit appeared in their
midst.

For a moment he was taken for an apparition of the Evil One; and when he
fled bawling into his mother's arms he brought his worthy parent under
momentary suspicion of intimacy with striped devils.

But when she began to pat his naked back and murmur: "There, ther-r-r-e!
Mother's boy is all safe!" and other similar expressions of assurance,
the horrified spectators began to grasp the situation, and restored her
good character.

It was some time before Biscuit could utter intelligible words, although
his mother fancied she heard among his tearful babblings the names of
several fish. But when he managed to convey the idea that there was some
kind of an initiation, she began to understand his highly decorated
exterior. Then suddenly it dawned on her that the painted decorations
were the only ones that he had on. In that panicky moment she wrapped
him in her best white shawl and started to conduct him towards a small
door that led into the session-room, when Mrs. Mandeville again entered
the arena.

"This," she exclaimed sarcastically, "might be a good time to get at the
_truth_ about those wonderful swimming lessons!"

Mrs. Westfall stopped in her tracks. "Perhaps it would," she said with a
murderous look at Mrs. Mandeville; and, turning Biscuit around so that
he faced the meeting she asked in a wheedling tone: "You _could_ swim
all right, couldn't you, dearie?"

"I du-du-don't know!" he blubbered.

"Don't know!" she demanded giv