knew that Joe spoke the
truth. As for the proprietor, that puzzled man thought that the little
shoemaker was trying to be funny and he laughed his first laugh that
evening.

Peter Dustin stood beside his mother, his horrified eyes on the little
toil-worn hand that was curled about the stem of a beer glass. He
wanted to snatch that glass away, wanted to shout to her not to touch
the stuff. But his throat was closed and he was conscious only of the
fact that somewhere down inside of the anguish that filled him
something was praying for help, something was begging God to keep the
little, blue-eyed mother stainless and sweet and unharmed.

Joe's boys were not beside their father. They were at the other end of
the counter staring, just staring, unconscious of everything, hearing
only that strange new laugh of their father's and noticing what no one
else except Mrs. Dustin saw--that Joe's hand as he raised his glass
shook wretchedly.

And then, before any of them could bring their glasses to their lips,
the thing the anguished soul of Peter Dustin had been praying for
happened. The door opened and within its frame stood the big handsome
figure of Green Valley's new minister.

One glance of his took in the scene and the smile he wore never changed
nor did an eyelash so much as quiver even after the blue eyes of
Peter's mother had flashed their message.

"Well--I've come to invite folks to my party and I find a party going
on. I'm going to give a housewarming soon, and I came over to ask
Williams here where he bought his graphophone and records. We must
have one at my party so that when the musicians get tired we can have
other music. And, Williams, I'm expecting you to come over that night
and run the thing for me. I shall be too busy attending to other
matters. And now, as long as we're all here would you mind letting me
hear 'Annie Laurie' again?"

The song was put on and the children crowded round.

Joe and Mrs. Dustin were listening silently to the song that always
brought back old faces and scenes and that old haunting ache for the
things of long ago.

"That's my favorite tune," said the proprietor suddenly to Mrs. Dustin.

"It's one of mine too," she smiled back with soft, shining eyes.

"My wife's name was Annie," he said again and as suddenly.

"Have you lost her?" Mrs. Dustin asked gently.

"Yes. Quite a while ago. You make me think of her. She was little
and had blue eyes. She died on me