Nickey, thoroughly aroused by the soft
impeachment. "I should worry! At the church fair, before Mr. Maxwell
came, she ran a fancy table, and tried to sell a baby blanket to an
old bachelor; but he wouldn't take it. Then when he wasn't lookin',
blessed if she didn't turn around and tie the four corners together
with a bit of ribbon, and sell it to him for a handkerchief case. She
got two dollars for it, and it wasn't worth seventy-five cents. She
was as proud as a dog with two tails, and went around tellin'
everybody."

Silence reigned, ominous and general, and Nickey braced himself for
the storm. Even Mrs. Maxwell didn't look at him, and that was pretty
bad. He began to get hot all over, and the matter was fast assuming a
new aspect in his own mind which made him ashamed of himself. His
spirits sank lower and lower. Finally his mother remarked quietly:

"Nickey, I thought you were goin' to be a gentleman."

"That's straight, all right, what I've told you," he murmured
abashed.

There was another silent pause--presently broken by Nickey.

"I guess I hadn't thought about it, just that way. I guess I'll give
the kids their money back," he volunteered despondently--"only I'll
have to make it up, some way, in the treasury." He felt in his
pockets, and jingled the coins.

Another pause--with only the ticking of his mother's knitting needles
to relieve the oppressive silence. Suddenly the worried pucker
disappeared from his brow, and his face brightened like a sun-burst.

"I've got it, Mrs. Maxwell," he cried. "I've got seventy-five cents
comin' to me down at the Variety Store, for birch-bark frames, and
I'll give that for the blamed old missionaries. That's square, 'aint
it now?"

Mrs. Betty's commendation and her smile were salve to the wounds of
her young guest, and Donald's hearty laughter soon dispelled the sense
of social failure which was beginning to cloud Nickey's happy spirit.

"Say Nickey," said Maxwell, throwing down his paper, "Mrs. Betty and I
want to start a Boy Scout Corps in the parish, and with your
resourceful genius you could get the boys together, and explain it to
them, and soon we should have the whole thing in ship-shape order.
Will you do it?"

"Will I?" exclaimed the delighted recruit. "I guess so--but some of
'em 'aint 'Piscopals, Mr. Maxwell; there's Sam Cooley, he's a
Methodist, and----"

"That doesn't cut any ice, Nickey,--excuse my slang, ladies," he
apologized to his wife and Heps