Joey hammered
the table with his spoon and shouted joyfully, knowing there must be a
grand joke somewhere.

Hannah looked across the table and nodded to her husband; it was a good
time to disclose an important secret.

"Now we want yous to be awful good kids to-night," said Jake, pushing
back his plate, and taking Joey on his knee, "because the minister's
comin' to see you."

"The minister! Why, he's been here already!" cried the black-haired
twin indignantly. "What's he comin' again for?"

"That was jist a call," said Hannah. "This is different. It's a
pastoral visitation this time," she added solemnly. The orphans looked
at each other apprehensively.

"What's that?" demanded Tim.

"It's when he comes to hear you say your verses an' your catechism,"
explained Jake soothingly; "and you'll all show him how much you know;
an' then he prays, and you must be awful good and quiet. Eh, little
woodpecker?"

The black-haired twin looked across the table at the fair-haired twin,
and each read aright the other's rebellious thought; one sharp glance
from Tim, and the matter was settled. The minister might make his
pastoral visitation, if he wanted to, but if he thought they were going
to stay home to say verses, and be quiet, he was mistaken.

The Sawyer parents were dreading signs of rebellion, and Hannah now
added enticingly: "We're goin' to pass 'round the gingerbread and the
ras'berry vinegar, and Susan Winters said yous girls could dress up in
your new plaid dresses."

The twins looked doubtful. Gingerbread and their new frocks! This
gave the pastoral visitation a festive aspect. They slipped away from
the table, and followed their elder brother out to the back yard.

"Whatter ye goin' to do, Tim?" asked the black-haired twin, divided
between dread of what the pastoral visitation might bring forth and a
natural curiosity to sound its unknown depths.

"Mammy says we can wear our Sunday dresses," said the fair-haired one
weakly.

Tim was drifting slowly, but surely, toward a hole in the back fence.

"Yous can stay, if ye wanter, but you bet I don't!" He wagged his head
ominously.

"Why, what'll he do?" The black-haired twin balanced herself
miraculously on the edge of the water-barrel and stared.

"He'll ast ye"--Tim's voice was sepulchral--"he'll ast ye if ye're
saved."

"If ye're what?" cried the twins, in alarm.

"If ye're saved. Preachers always does that. It means if ye're goin'
to the