es, responding to the latter's invitation, had crawled over her
father's legs before he realized what was happening. She, too, went
sailing down the aisle, her stiff white dress standing straight up in
the back like a strutting gobbler's tail. She grabbed hold of the man's
hand, and was promptly lifted to the table beside the other "orphans."
Tears stood in the good preacher's eyes as he turned to the tittering
audience and said in a pathetic voice, "Think of it, my friends, this
beautiful little girl has no mother."

Poor Mrs. Black! A hundred pairs of eyes sought her pew and focused
themselves upon the pretty young woman sitting there, red, angry, and
shamefaced. Mr. Black was visibly amused and could hardly keep from
laughing aloud.

As Frances passed by the Hamiltons' pew in her promenade down the aisle,
Mrs. Hamilton leaned across her husband and made an attempt to clutch
Lina; but she was too late; already that dignified little "orphan" was
gliding with stately, conscious tread to join the others. This was too
much for the audience. A few boys laughed out and for the first time
the preacher's suspicions were aroused. As he clasped Lina's slender,
graceful little hand he asked:

"And you have no father or mother, little girl?"

"Yes, I have, too," she angrily retorted. "My father and mother are
sitting right there," and she pointed a slim forefinger to her crimson,
embarrassed parents.

CHAPTER XIII

JOB AND POLLIE BUMPUS

"I never have told a downright falsehood," said Lina. "Mother taught
me how wicked it is to tell stories. Did you ever tell a fib to your
mother, Frances?"

"'Tain't no use to try to 'ceive my mama," was the reply of the other
little girl; "she's got such gimlet eyes and ears she can tell with 'em
shut if you're fibbing. I gave up hope long ago, so I just go 'long and
tell her the plain gospel truth when she asks me, 'cause I know those
gimlet eyes and ears of hers 're going to worm it out o' me somehow."

"Grown folks pin you down so close sometimes," said Jimmy, "you bound to
'varicate a little; and I always tell God I'm sorry. I tell my mama the
truth 'most all time 'cepting when she asks questions 'bout things ain't
none of her business a tall, and she all time want to know 'Who done
it?' and if I let on it's me, I know she'll wear out all the slippers
and hair-brushes they is paddling my canoe, 'sides switches, so I jus'
say 'I do' know, 'm'--which all