that the one she's
singin'?"

"Certainly not. I said it goes _this_ way. That's somebody else you
hear, Mort."

"Hear that?" cried Ed Higgins excitedly. "That's 'Sweet Alice, Ben
Bolt!' My wife's favourite. My Lord, Anderson, what's to be done?"

"Keep still!" ordered Anderson. "I'm tryin' to see if I c'n make out my
wife's singin'!"

"Well, we got to do somethin'," groaned Newt Spratt, whose wife was
organist in the Pond Road Church. "She'll bust that piano all to smash
if she keeps on like that."

"Come on, gentlemen," said Anderson, compressing his lips. "Remember
now, every man selects his own wife. Every--"

"Wait a minute, Anderson," pleaded George Brubacker. "It'll take more
than me to manage my wife if she gets stubborn."

"It ain't our fault if you married a woman twice as big as you are," was
the marshal's stern rejoinder. "Now, remember the plan. We're just
droppin' in to surprise 'em, to sort of join in the service. Don't fer
the land's sake, let 'em see we're uneasy about 'em. We got to use
diplomacy. Look pleasant, ever'body,--look happy. Now, then,--forward
march! Laugh, dern you, Alf!"

Once more they advanced, chatting volubly, and with faces supposed to be
wholly free from anxiety. The merest glance, however, would have
penetrated the mask of unconcern. Every man's eye belied his lips.

"I make a motion that we tar an' feather Deacon Rank," said Newt Spratt,
as the foremost neared the porch.

Anderson halted them abruptly.

"I want to warn you men right now, that I'm going to search all the
cellars in town tomorrow, so you might as well be prepared to empty all
your cider into Smock's Crick. You don't need to say you ain't got any
on hand. I've been investigatin' for several weeks, an' I want to tell
you right here an' now that I've got every cask an' every bottle of hard
cider in Tinkletown spotted. I know what's become of every derned apple
that was raised in this township last year."

Dead silence followed this heroic speech. Citizens looked at each other,
and Situate M. Jones might have been heard to mutter something about "an
all-seeing Providence."

Ed Higgins lamely explained that he had "put up a little for vinegar,"
but Anderson merely smiled.

The front door of the house flew open and several of the first ladies of
Tinkletown crowded into view. An invisible choir was singing the
Doxology.

"Hello, boys!" called out Mrs. Jones, cheerily. "Come right in! Where's
zat nice o