ing to Darwin's theory
after all," but mother took me to her arms, withering her sister with
scornful glances of her flashing eyes. "Certainly does he look like a
monk, the poor little tiddledee-diddy darling," she said; "what else
would you expect of him, being the son of a preacher and a descendant
of priests?"

On a certain fateful summer day when assembled at dinner we heard the
rumble of wheels as an imperial post-chaise hove into view, lumbering
lazily past the parsonage.

The postillion's horn sounded a letter-call and my sisters rushed out,
racing over our lawn to the gate, in order to take the message. They
returned with a large envelope bearing great official seals, both girls
struggling for its possession and fighting like cats for the privilege
of carrying the precious document. Mother's face was wreathed in smiles
of ecstacy.

"Your salary, papa," she whispered, but father was very solemn. "No,
dear, it is not due," he answered. He took the missive from my sister's
hands and turned it over and over, guessing at its contents until
mother who was favored with more of that quality which is commonly
called "presence of mind" urged him to open it, and see.

An ashen pallor spread over father's countenance, the letter dropped
from his hand and he would have fallen if mother had not caught him in
her arms. She grabbed the evil message, slipping it into the bosom of
her gown, where it could do no further harm.

Then she guided father's faltering steps to the sanctity of his studio,
where he wrote his sermons and closed the door.

My sisters availed themselves of the opportunity to make a raid on
mother's pantry, but I, poor little innocent, waited in the corridor
for mother's return, dreading to hear the worst. I heard my dear father
groan aloud and bemoan his fate and listened to mother's soothing
sympathetic words as she begged father to be calm and bear it like a
man and a Christian.

When at last mother came out I flew to her. She took me to her arms,
kissing my tear-stained face.

"Poor little boy," she said, "cheer up and you shall have a big cookie,
don't you cry!"

"Oh, mamma," I faltered, "will papa die?"

"No, sonny, that he won't," said she with a determined glint of her
eyes and a twitching of the corners of her mouth, "for I won't let him;
but he does suffer anguish!"

"Oh, tell me, mamma, what misfortune has befallen us," I cried.

"It is very sad," said mother. "Your father, who is th