to be something like the gesticulation
of an animated sausage, she proceeded to terminate the debate.

"Those in favor of _my_ proposition will signify the same in the usual
manner," she cried, with an air that brooked no sort of denial.

Up went every right hand in the room except those of Kate and Allan
Dy. Then the "no's" were taken. After which the result was announced
with all the triumph of Mrs. Day's domineering personality.

"Carried," she cried.

Then she turned upon her secretary without the least sympathy or
kindliness in her manner.

"You'll enter that resolution in the minutes of the meeting," she
snapped.

* * * * *

Some half-hour later the quorum dissolved itself and trickled out of
the oppressive precincts of Mrs. John Day's highly polished parlor.
The trickling process only lasted until the front door was gained.
Then came a rush which had neither dignity nor politeness in it.

The two men set off for the saloon without attempting to disguise
their purpose. The women hastily tripped off in the various directions
whither they knew their favorite gossips would be found. Even Kate
Seton failed to wait to exchange her usual few final words with the
president. Truth to tell, she was both disgusted and depressed, and
felt that somehow she had made a mess of things. She felt that she had
contrived to turn an unimportant matter into something of the first
magnitude. The question of felling the old pine had merely been one
of those subjects for bickering between Billy and Allan Dy, who had
never been known to agree on any subject, and now, through bringing
their dispute before the committee, she knew that she had changed it
into a question upon which the whole village would take sides. She
only trusted that superstition would prevail, and the aged landmark
would be left standing. She somehow felt doubtful, however, now that
Mrs. Day had taken sides against her, and she hurried off to avoid
further discussion.

Billy Unguin arrived at the saloon alone. Allan Dy's course was
diverted when he came within sight of his post office. As he reached
the main trail of the village, he saw Inspector Fyles and Sergeant
McBain riding down from the west, and the sight of them reminded him
of his mail. So, leaving his friend to continue his way to the saloon
alone, he went on to his little office, arriving in time to take down
a telegraphic message from Amberley, and hand it, with his