rode across a bridge and Yet he walked,'
and the answer is, 'He had a little dog named Yet who walked across the
bridge.'"

"Well, I'd 'nother sight ruther have a little dog name' Fido," declared
Jimmy. "A little dog name' Yet and a little girl name' Stillshee ain't
got no sense a tall to it."

"Why should a hangman wear suspenders?" asked Lina. "I'll bet nobody can
answer that."

"To keep his breeches from falling off," triumphantly answered Frances.

"No, you goose, a hangman should wear suspenders so that he 'd always
have a gallows handy."

CHAPTER XII

IN THE HOUSE OF THE LORD.

It was a beautiful Sunday morning. The pulpit of the Methodist Church
was not occupied by its regular pastor, Brother Johnson. Instead, a
traveling minister, collecting funds for a church orphanage in Memphis,
was the speaker for the day. Miss Minerva rarely missed a service in her
own church. She was always on hand at the Love Feast and the Missionary
Rally and gave liberally of her means to every cause. She was sitting in
her own pew between Billy and Jimmy, Mr. and Mrs. Garner having remained
at home. Across the aisle from her sat Frances Black, between her father
and mother; two pews in front of her were Mr. and Mrs. Hamilton, with
Lina on the outside next the aisle. The good Major was there, too; it
was the only place he could depend upon for seeing Miss Minerva.

The preacher, after an earnest and eloquent discourse from the text,
"He will remember the fatherless," closed the big Bible with a bang
calculated to wake any who might be sleeping. He came down from the
pulpit and stood close to his hearers as he made his last pathetic
appeal.

"My own heart," said he, "goes out to every orphan child, for in the
yellow fever epidemic of '78, when but two years old, I lost both father
and mother. If there are any little orphan children here to-day, I
should be glad if they would come up to the front and shake hands with
me."

Now Miss Minerva always faithfully responded to every proposal made by a
preacher; it was a part of her religious conviction. At revivals she was
ever a shining, if solemn and austere, light. When a minister called for
all those who wanted to go to Heaven to rise, she was always the first
one on her feet. If he asked to see the raised hands of those who were
members of the church at the tender age of ten years, Miss Minerva's
thin, long arm gave a prompt response. Once when a cel