hed in anguish. The serenade was bad enough, but this
unmerciful mocking derision of her adored twin was unendurable.

Then the quartette waxed sentimental. They sang, and not badly, a few
old southern melodies, and started slowly around the corner of the
house, still singing.

It has been said that Aunt Grace was always kind, always gentle,
unsuspicious and without guile. She had heard the serenade, and promptly
concluded that it was the work of some of the high-school boys who were
unanimously devoted to Carol. She had a big box of chocolates up-stairs,
for Connie's birthday celebration. She could get them, and make
lemonade, and--

She opened the door softly and stepped out, directly in the path of the
startled youths. Full of her hospitable intent, she was not discerning
as parsonage people need to be.

"Come in, boys," she said cordially, "the girls will be down in a
minute."

The appearance of a guardian angel summoning them to Paradise could not
have confounded them more utterly. They stumbled all over one another
in trying to back away from her. She laughed softly.

"Don't be bashful. We enjoyed it very much. Yes, come right in."

Undoubtedly they would have declined if only they could have thought of
the proper method of doing so. As it was, they only succeeded in
shambling through the parsonage door, instinctively concealing their
half-smoked cigarettes beneath their fingers.

Aunt Grace ushered them into the pleasant living-room, and ran up to
summon her nieces.

Left alone, the boys looked at one another with amazement and with
grief, and the leader, the touching tenor, said with true musical
fervor, "Well, this is a go!"

In the meantime, the girls, with horror, had heard their aunt's
invitation. What in the world did she mean? Was it a trick between her
and Fairy? Had they hired the awful Slaughterers to bring this disgrace
upon the parsonage? Sternly they faced her when she opened their door.

"Come down, girls--I invited them in. I'm going to make lemonade and
serve my nice chocolates. Hurry down."

"You invited them in!" echoed Connie.

"The Slaughter-house Quartette," hissed Lark.

Then Aunt Grace whirled about and stared at them. "Mercy!" she
whispered, remembering for the first time Fairy's words. "Mercy! Is
it--that? I thought it was high-school boys and--mercy!"

"Mercy is good," said Carol grimly.

"You'll have to put them out," suggested Connie.

"I can't! How can I?--How di