not a ruffle on the surface of their domestic waters.
It was on the tenth day that the twins, strolling down Main Street,
conversing earnestly together as was their custom, were accosted by a
nicely-rounded, pompous man with a cordial, "Hello, twins."

In an instant they were bright with smiles, for this was Mr. Raider,
editor and owner of the _Daily News_, the biggest and most popular of
Mount Mark's three daily papers. Looking forward, as they did, to a
literary career for Lark, they never failed to show a touching and
unnatural deference to any one connected, even ever so remotely, with
that profession. Indeed, Carol, with the charm of her smile, had
bewitched the small carriers to the last lad, and in reply to her
sister's teasing, only answered stoutly, "That's all right,--you don't
know what they may turn into one of these days. We've got to look ahead
to Lark's Literary Career."

So when humble carriers, and some of them black at that, received such
sweet attention, one can well imagine what the nicely rounded, pompous
editor himself called forth.

They did not resent his nicely-rounded and therefore pointless jokes.
They smiled at them. They did not call the _Daily News_ the "Raider
Family Organ," as they yearned to do. They did not admit that they urged
their father to put Mr. Raider on all church committees to insure
publicity. They swallowed hard, and told themselves that, after all, Mr.
Raider was an editor, and perhaps he couldn't help editing his own
family to the exclusion of the rest of Mount Mark.

When, on this occasion, he looked Lark up and down with his usual rotund
complacency, Carol only gritted her teeth and reminded her heaving soul
that he was an editor.

"What are you going to do this summer, Lark?" he asked, without
preamble.

"Why,--just nothing, I suppose. As usual."

"Well," he said, frowning plumply, "we're running short of men. I've
heard you're interested in our line, and I thought maybe you could help
us out during vacation. How about it? The work'll be easy and it'll be
fine experience for you. We'll pay you five dollars a week. This is a
little town, and we're called a little publication, but our work and our
aim and methods are identical with those of the big city papers." He
swelled visibly, almost alarmingly. "How about it? You're the one with
the literary longings, aren't you?"

Lark was utterly speechless. If the National Bank had opened its coffers
to the always hard-