nch dressing ever created in the
history of the world."

Mr. Crow looked scandalized. "Good gosh, Harry, ain't we had enough
scandal in this here town today without addin' anything French to it?"

* * * * *

The only moral to be attached to this story lies in the brief statement
that Mrs. Crow's indisposition, slight in duration though it was, so
occupied Mr. Crow's attention that by the time he was ready to begin his
search the second night after the song service, there wasn't so much as
a pint of hard cider to be found in Tinkletown. This condition was due
in a large measure, no doubt, to the fact that Smock's Creek is an
unusually swift little stream. It might even be called turbulent.

"JAKE MILLER HANGS HIMSELF"

"Have you heard the latest news?" inquired Newt Spratt, speaking in a
hushed voice. He addressed Uncle Dad Simms, the town's oldest
inhabitant, whom he met face to face at the corner of Main and Sickle
streets one fine morning in May. Now any one in Tinkletown would tell
you that it was the sheerest folly to address Uncle Dad in a hushed
voice. Mr. Spratt knew this as well as he knew his own name, so it
should be easy to understand that the "news" was of a somewhat
awe-inspiring nature. Ordinarily Newt was a loud-mouthed, jovial soul;
you could hear him farther and usually longer than any other male
citizen in Tinkletown. But now, he spoke in a hushed voice.

Uncle Dad put his hand up to his left ear and said "Hey?" This seemed to
bring Mr. Spratt to his senses. He started violently, stared hard for a
moment at the octogenarian, and then strode off down Main street,
shaking his head as much as to say, "There must be something the matter
with me. Nobody ever speaks to him unless he _has_ to."

And Uncle Dad, after gazing for a long time at the retreating figure,
resumed his shuffling progress up Main street, pleasantly satisfied that
Newt had gone to the trouble to tell him it was a nice day.

Although it would not have occurred to Newt, in his dismal state of
mind, to look upon the day as a nice one, nevertheless it was. The sun
was shining brightly, (but without Newt's knowledge), and the air was
soft and balmy and laden with the perfume of spring. Birds were
twittering in the new green foliage of the trees, but Newt heard them
not; dogs frisked in the sunshine, wagging their tongues and tails, but
Newt saw them not; hens cackled, horses whinnied, children la